


Highly (in)Compatible

by gracie137



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Denial of Feelings, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Enthusiastic Consent, Facials, Forced Dating, Forced Proximity, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, HP: EWE, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Magical Theory, POV Draco Malfoy, Panic Attacks, Post-Hogwarts, References to Depression, Romance, Soulmate Theory, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, anxiety mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracie137/pseuds/gracie137
Summary: Draco’s been shagging The Prat Who Lived on and off for a few months when his soul mark starts to change. Draco’s had to accept a lot of adjustments to his life, but accepting that Harry Potter could be his soulmate is one step too far. It can’t be true? Can it?





	Highly (in)Compatible

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt I claimed was absolutely brilliant and I had a fantastic time exploring the idea of soul-marks changing and their overall relation to free will, and I hope that shows.
> 
> Thank you so much to my brilliant betas Magpie and Tdcat without whom this fic would be a mess and the characters would be bland. Also thank you to Aibidil for letting me talk through the magical theory to ensure it made sense.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoy this!!!

“I’m going to New Zealand for a couple of months.” Potter’s voice startled Draco out of whatever vaguely pleasant moment he’d been enjoying.

Draco took a long drag on his cigarette and stared at the wall of Potter’s bedroom. He wondered if Potter knew or cared that there was mould growing there. Merlin, even Draco’s crappy place didn’t have mould growing in it. It had when he’d moved in, but Draco had fixed it up pretty quickly.

He wasn’t going to survive the Dark Lord and Death Eaters living in his house and a war only to be killed by mould.

“Did you hear what I said?” Potter said.

Draco flicked his cigarette, not caring that he was getting ash on Potter’s sheets. Potter could just  _ Vanish _ it away or run off to another continent for a couple of months to avoid cleaning it up. “Yes,” he said, finally looking away from the wall and over at Potter. “I’m not deaf.”

Potter’s hair stuck up at a multitude of peculiar angles and Draco knew his hands had caused it. His eyes were bright even in the dim early morning light, and there was the same softness to his face that always came when Potter took off his glasses. Draco resented his 20:20 vision and the way it allowed him to see the smattering of freckles across Potter’s nose.

“Okay,” Potter nodded, looking awkward. “Well, I’m leaving tomorrow morning so I’m off to the Burrow for the day.”

Potter did this every time, some awkward mumbling about  _ why _ Draco had to leave at five thirty. Draco was pretty sure it would offend Potter’s Gryffindor sensibility to actually wake up the next morning beside Draco. It was easier for Potter to kick him out before either of them fell asleep.

“I have places to be anyway,” Draco said, glancing at his watch.

Potter cast a Tempus charm and laughed. “It’s five am, where could you possibly have to be at this time?” Draco hated Potter’s laugh; it was warm and easy, and contrasted with the fact Potter was a git.

A decently attractive and pretty good in bed git, Draco supposed, but a git nonetheless.

“It’s five thirty technically,” Draco said,  _ Vanishing  _ his cigarette butt with a snap of his fingers. It was some of the only wandless magic he could do and he’d learned it from Samuel Selwyn. It was a party trick really, but a useful one. “And places,” he shrugged, rolling out of Potter’s bed and pulling his boxers on. He could feel Potter’s eyes on his arse, and he smirked at Potter over his shoulder. “Cleaning charm?” Draco requested. Potter rolled his eyes but reached for his wand, and Draco felt the magic cleaning off the sweat and dried come from his body. He hummed in thanks.

Potter grinned, leaning back on his elbows, the duvet falling so it only covered one of his thighs. Draco let his eyes slide over Potter’s golden skin, the smattering of dark hair on his chest that led down to where his spent cock hung.

Potter cleared his throat and Draco let his eyes slide back up, trying to ignore the black chicken scratch letters on the side of Potter’s ribs.  _ Ginny Weasley _ .

Draco had his own version, of course; however, his was red on the other side of his body and read  _ Pansy Parkinson. _

“Enjoying the view?” Potter leered, but there was a slight blush on his cheeks. Potter always blushed more when he started to sober up.

Draco shrugged and grabbed his shirt. He was barely going to have time to shower before work at this rate. “It’s tolerable.”

“Tolerable,” Potter echoed, laughing again. He ran a hand through his hair as if it would do anything to tidy the bird’s nest on his head. It irked Draco to no end that he found Potter’s ridiculous sex hair attractive. Draco wriggled his jeans on and for the thousandth time in his life cursed skinny jeans. All the benefits seemed to vanish at five o’clock in the morning.

Potter  _ Summoned _ his jumper and trackies and pulled them on, stumbling out of bed as he did so. Draco envied Potter’s easy grasp of wandless magic. Draco envied a fair few things about Potter’s life.

They didn’t say anything as they walked down the steps to Potter’s front door. Draco had never been anywhere else in Grimmauld Place but Potter’s bedroom, not since he was a young child and his mother had brought him here. He could never forget that this was his family home as well. Potter could keep it; the place was dark, damp, and drab. Draco’s memories of the place under his Great Uncle’s control were fuzzy, but he could have sworn the house hadn’t been  _ this  _ miserable.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest as he stepped outside the door, wishing he’d worn a coat. Part of him wanted to ask Potter to cast a warming spell so Draco wasn’t stuck trekking across London looking quite like he’d been fucked five ways from Sunday  _ and  _ shivering.

“Have a good Christmas, Malfoy,” Potter said, giving Draco a two fingered salute as he leaned against the door. “I’m sure I’ll see you when I’m back.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t count on it.”

Potter grinned and turned around, shutting the door in Draco’s face.

Draco glanced around Grimmauld Place glad that no one else seemed to be up yet. He checked his watch; at this rate there’d be enough time to catch the tube home, shower, maybe even have breakfast, and still get to work for eight. 

Draco didn’t care about Potter leaving again. They were nothing more than a meaningless shag whenever they ended up at the same club. Letting Potter actually into his life would mean opening up about a lot of things that Draco wanted to keep under wraps.

Draco rubbed his side as it twinged; he must have pulled a muscle at some point during sex. Or maybe it was Potter’s crappy Apparition skills. How Potter had passed that test Draco would never know.

Draco counted himself lucky; Angel was only a few minutes walk away from Potter’s place and since the first tube wouldn’t be going for about twenty minutes Draco had time to grab a coffee first. He was going to need it if he was going to make it through the day.

* * *

“Hello, darling.”

Draco jumped at the sound of Pansy’s voice and turned to glare at her. His glare softened when he spotted the heavy bags under her eyes and the fact she was still in the tiny dress she was expected to wear to work.

“You just get in?” Draco asked, moving over to the kettle. He had to make sure not to trip over Pansy’s heels that had been discarded in a manner that suggested she’d kicked them off as soon as she got in.

Pansy nodded, her chin propped on her hand, which was adorned with silver Pandora rings. They were a staple to her wealth as well as a fuck you to her parents as they were all Muggle brands. “I’m meant to be asking you that question.”

“Yeah, well I obviously just got in,” Draco said, grabbing two mugs and placing them on the counter. He started hunting through the cabinets for Pansy’s salted caramel hot chocolate and his coffee.

“Don’t tell me it was Potter again,” Pansy sighed.

“He’s off to New Zealand tomorrow,” Draco said as if that explained it all. As if that excused the fact that he couldn’t stop himself from ending up in Potter’s bed time after time.

Pansy hummed. “You’re an idiot if you think this ends in any other way than with you heart broken and Potter marrying Ginny Weasley. They’re soulmates remember.”

“We’re soulmates,” Draco shrugged, leaning against the counter.

Pansy glanced at her wrist and red printing of  _ Draco Malfoy _ , her nose wrinkled. “Yes, but we’ve got the shittiest luck.”

Draco laughed bitterly. He hadn’t been that surprised when shortly after his nineteenth birthday  _ Pansy Parkinson  _ had started to appear on his side, because a few months prior his name had appeared on Pansy’s wrist.

Developing soul marks was a strange sensation, as until they settled there was this constant itch under your skin. It was thoroughly unpleasant and Draco felt sorry for those rare and unfortunate buggers whose soul marks changed throughout their lives.

“At least tell me you got your wand back this time?” Pansy asked, stretching out and and causing her dress to ride up another couple of inches.

“Obviously not,” Draco muttered, scowling at her. Pansy wasn’t looking at him. Instead she was watching the rising sun through the kitchen window.

It preyed on Draco’s mind every time he was in Potter’s house.  _ You have my wand _ , Draco wanted to shout. He wanted to know what Potter would do, if he’d refuse to give it back. Draco had seen Potter’s wand, he knew it wasn’t Draco’s. Where was  _ his  _ wand?

He didn’t dare ask Potter though, in case Potter refused him. He wouldn’t be able to face the humiliation.

Draco had badgered his parole officer for a year and a half about when he would be able to get a new wand. Alfred had said every time that Draco would get one eventually, but that he wasn’t a Ministry priority. They were having to deal with the hundreds of Muggle-borns who had lost their wands.

Draco didn’t like the idea of being defenceless if a witch or wizard picked a fight with him, so when his Muggle community service had ended, he’d stayed in the Muggle world. It was easier, safer, and better this way. He’d learnt a lot about the world, Muggles, and himself from it.

Pansy and Greg had had nothing waiting for them in the wizarding world either, so they’d joined him.

The kettle dinged and he turned around and busied himself making their drinks. Pansy would now sleep through the day and then wake up this evening and do it all again. Normally, she didn’t have to work such atrocious hours, but during the holidays the shift times always got fucked up.

“How was work?” Draco asked, grabbing the marshmallows from the cupboard for Pansy.

She gave him a grateful smile. “Fucking shit, think I got fetishised three times. And when I told the final man where he could stick his pathetic dream of submissive, pretty Japanese girls, he told me I was a whorey, cock-teasing cunt.”

“Delightful,” Draco replied, rubbing his side again. It was still twinging even though he wasn’t moving. It didn’t feel like a pulled muscle, more an itch under his skin begging to be scratched.

“Anyway, you going home for Christmas?” Pansy asked through a yawn.

Draco nodded and placed her hot chocolate in front of her. “Yeah, I’ve booked my train for the twenty-third so Mother isn’t alone for too long.”

Narcissa was alone too much as it was, but there wasn’t much Draco could do about that with Lucius in Azkaban. He wondered if the Ministry would ever release her from her house arrest or if she’d be driven mad first.

“In her latest letter she told me she has a new half-kneazle creature,” Draco said. He hated his mother’s kneazles; they got fur everywhere and they all hated him.

“How many is that now? Seven?”

“Eight,” Draco said, heaping sugar into his coffee and taking a long sip. It burnt his tongue and he pulled a face.

Checking his watch, Draco realised he no longer had time for a shower if he was going to make it to John Lewis on time. He’d managed to pick the part time job up for the holidays whilst he was on break from his usual job as a teaching assistant.

“I’ll see you later,” Draco said, pressing a kiss to Pansy’s cheek as he walked past her.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook for this Potter thing,” Pansy mumbled, squeezing his hand but ultimately letting him go without a fight. She was clearly exhausted.

At the end of the day, there wasn’t much she could do about it. Draco knew what he was doing. It was meaningless sex between two adults. There was nothing deeper than that. Draco couldn’t let it be deeper than that.

Draco threw his dirty, sweat-soaked clothes onto the floor and pulled on his jeans. He began brushing his teeth as he searched for his work shirt.

Draco’s room wasn’t much, really. It was a box of a room with a single bed with a faulty plank that collapsed if too much weight was put on it — Draco had discovered that during one very embarrassing one-night stand. Greg had hurtled into Draco’s room at the noise, only to find Draco, his collapsed bed, and a very embarrassed Muggle boy.

Draco caught sight of his hair in the mirror. It looked fucking disgusting and Potter had definitely got lube in it. The arsehole. Casting a final glance around his room and deciding his work shirt definitely wasn’t there, Draco wandered into Pansy’s room. He presumed his shirt was in the clean washing pile.

Pansy was sat in her bra and pants on her bed, slowly taking her makeup off. It left her currently looking like a panda. Draco smiled at the sight.

“You got anything for my hair?”

Pansy paused and wrinkled her nose. “What’s in it?”

“Lube, probably some come as well,” Draco shrugged, bending down to inspect himself in Pansy’s mirror. He rubbed his neck and scowled when he realised Potter had left a hickey. “And if you’ve got any foundation?”

Pansy sighed, gave him a long suffering look, and unfolded herself from her bed. “Hair, I’ll give you a quick cleaning spell, might hide the smell of sex as well, and the hickey,” she smirked, “well, we’re quite blatantly not the same skin colour.” Draco supposed he’d give her that one. “Luckily for you Tabby Flint taught me a charm for getting rid of them back in third year.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Draco nodded, exposing his neck as Pansy pulled her wand out of her bedroom drawer and muttered a spell under her breath. “Ouch,” Draco hissed, rubbing his neck and bending down to check in the mirror. The hickey was gone at least.

“Hair,” Pansy prompted. Draco stood back up and Pansy raised her wand. Draco closed his eyes waiting for the cleaning spell. He liked the sensation of cleaning spells as they washed over him. Nothing happened.

Draco cracked open one eye. “I have to—” he started, when Pansy’s sharp nails grabbed him, piercing the skin by his ribs. A flare of pain that wasn’t from Pansy’s nail burst through his body. “Yes, it’s still  _ your _ fucking name.” 

Draco’s soulmate was still a lesbian, and he was  _ still _ a gay man. 

“What?” Draco hissed.

“This isn’t my name?” Pansy said slowly, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“What do you mean it isn’t your name?” Draco said, scrambling around and staring in the mirror, which of course was fuck all use because Draco couldn’t read backwards! “It always has and it always will say Pansy Parkinson!”

Pansy shook her head, nails tracing the letters. “It says Parry Porkinson.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep and let me get to work.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “I am not sleep addled, you flaming dickhead.” Draco raised an eyebrow at Pansy’s rather extreme reaction. If anything it proved his case, since she always became excessively bitchy when tired. “It says Parry Porkinson!”

Draco froze. There was no way his soul mark was changing, no matter what the pain in his ribs indicated. Draco had accepted Pansy was his soulmate — it seemed to make sense. Sure, occasionally people’s soul marks changed over their lives because people changed and their soul marks reacted to this. Soul marks weren’t rigidly set in stone, they ebbed and flowed and adapted.

_ Parry Porkinson _ .

“You know Parry sounds an awful lot like—”

Draco spun around, his finger pointing at Pansy. He was shaking. “Do not say it.”

Pansy held her hands up in the air. “I’m just saying—”

“Well don’t!” Draco snapped. He knew that sometimes people’s soul marks didn’t match up. He had seen it with Theo, and Draco was not having that happen to him. He refused to accept that his luck was  _ that _ bad.

“You think I want this!” Pansy said, scowling. “I’m not joining the unrequited love of  _ Draco fucking Malfoy _ train!”

Draco glowered at her. “Do not throw that in my face.” Draco hadn’t asked for Theo to turn up on his doorstep with Draco’s bloody name on his hip. “Right, I need to go to fucking work now, and when I get back we will realise that we were both just tired.”

Pansy nodded, lifted her wand, and cast a cleaning charm over him. Draco gave her a strained smile before striding out of her room and downstairs to find his work shirt. There was no way this was happening. No way in hell. Absolutely not.

* * *

Draco scowled as he picked a handful of kneazle fur off his new cashmere jumper. Stupid creatures.

Why had his mother had to name them after Greek goddesses? The latest one was called Nemesis, and she seemed to be exacting revenge on Draco for coming home. She seemed to think it was her house even if she’d only been here a month and Draco had lived there for nearly eighteen years.

Nemesis and her stupid sisters could keep the Manor, though. It wasn’t Draco’s home anymore. It hadn’t been Draco’s home since the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord moved in. How could you call a place home when you were too afraid to sleep at night? Every creak in the floorboards and every gust of wind had woken him up. He’d tossed and turned until he learnt how to function with next to no sleep.

Narcissa would sniff and ask how Draco could live happily in a Muggle house with Muggle housemates. In a bed that collapsed, with a shower that ran cold most of the time and an oven that would never be clean.

And Draco always told her that it wasn’t that bad really, that you got used to the house and its faults. But the real answer was because he could sleep there.

He could sleep in London with the buzz of the traffic and the dull hum of voices. He could sleep with Jessica and Pansy playing bad Muggle pop songs too loudly and Humeara always slamming her door. He had never imagined feeling so comfortable in a Muggle house, he had never imagined Muggles becoming the closest friends he had. However, it worked — the five of them worked together.

The house was a shithole, but he felt safe there. He felt at home. He still couldn’t sleep at the Manor.

He spent the nights poring over his books and the days wandering around the grounds with his mother. He hated being here, but he knew she needed him. It was the reason he did his best to head over once a month if he could for a weekend. Locked up alone in the Manor with only her pets, the portraits, and the traces left from the war couldn’t be good for anyone’s mental health.

Christmas had been a stilted affair with the two of them sat opposite each other with little to say. Narcissa had tried to make him sit in Lucius’s seat and Draco had once again refused. Then they’d glared at each other until Smitsy had wandered in with the first course.

Lucius was and probably always would be in Azkaban, and he still managed to make his presence felt. Draco’s father truly had a gift.

Draco had appreciated the jumper his mother had got him though; it would keep him warm, and it was beautiful. He imagined it had cost her more than she should have spent on him. Narcissa struggled with adapting to not being able to throw gold around anymore.

The Ministry had drained a fair bit of the Malfoy accounts, but that still left them far from poor. They were no longer stinking rich, but they were doing okay. Narcissa never left the house, and Draco’s teaching assistant position paid decently for his lack of Muggle qualifications.

Hera let out a yowl as she scratched at Draco’s door demanding to come in. Apparently, she had decided Draco’s room was the comfiest to sleep in, and she could have it. Draco closed his suitcase, ignoring Hera, who was continuing to yowl.

He was looking forward to getting back to London; the Manor had shitty phone service and Pansy’s daily updates made him long for his friends more. That, and he was starting to get more and more worried about his soul mark that still read Parry Porkinson, which meant nothing.

Draco ghosted his fingers across his jumper where his changing mark was still there, itching away. It needed to sort itself out, because Draco refused to be linked forever to someone called Parry Porkinson. It was a ridiculous name.

Pansy kept texting him about going to the Ministry and asking that they take a look at it. Draco hadn’t been back to the Ministry since his trial. He met with his probation officer in coffee shops, and they shared stilted conversation while Alfred ticked off all his boxes, confirming Draco wasn’t being a menace to society. Draco hadn’t had anything to do with the wizarding world since his community service ended, and now all because of one stupid mark he was probably going to be shoved back into it.

Draco wanted to blame Potter, because it was satisfying being able to hate him, but that went hand in hand with Pansy’s idea that Draco’s soul mark was trying to say Harry Potter.

Harry fucking Potter was not Draco’s soulmate. He was  _ not _ . Draco didn’t even speak to the git unless Draco was planning on later being balls deep inside said-git’s arse or vise versa. There was no way they were soulmates.

Draco checked his watch and heaved his suitcase off the bed. He had to get going before he missed his train, and he still had to say goodbye to his mother.

Throwing the door open and neatly side-stepping a hissing Hera, who swiped at him, Draco made his way downstairs to find his mother in the drawing room with two cups of tea. Narcissa didn’t have a wand, but the house had magic in its foundations. Generations of Malfoys had lived there and left their mark.

Narcissa Malfoy was the picture of beauty from where Draco observed her, awash in the winter sunlight that filtered through the windows. Her hair fell perfectly straight down her back, the white blonde only illuminated by the new silver strands. Her pale-blue dress hung off her slim figure, and it was only when you got up close that you realised her collarbones were too prominent and her cheekbones too harsh. She would always be a striking beauty, but she was haunting now.

Narcissa Malfoy had become a ghost in her own home.

“Are you going already?” Narcissa asked, climbing to her feet, which were bare as always. It was only when she left the house that she wore shoes now. And even then Draco sometimes found himself reminding his mother that they were necessary.

Part of him wondered if it made her feel closer to Lucius, having his name there as a comfort. Draco’s parents had been lucky; they’d been soulmates and lovers. As a child he’d always looked up to them, as the ultimate dream. Someone you loved and was of equal status. Draco wasn’t sure how lucky his mother had really been anymore.

“Yes, I’ve got to get back to London. I’ve got work tomorrow morning,” Draco said, stepping forward and kissing her gently on her cheek.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for a final cup of tea?” Narcissa’s face was imploring and Draco squeezed her hand.

“I really can’t, but I’ll visit as soon as I can,” Draco promised, and he would. He would come back as soon as he could stomach it.

Narcissa nodded and reached up to cup his face with her hands. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

Her eyes were still bright and blue, and that restored Draco’s hope that his mother was still there. “I always do,” Draco said, taking her hands in his and squeezing them again. “You take care of yourself, too.”

“I always do,” Narcissa echoed, giving him a final smile before wandering back over to her chair. She looked ethereal.

Draco watched her for a moment, before giving Smitsy a tight smile and picking up his suitcase. He had organised a taxi to take him to the station because it was the only way to get to and from the Manor. Draco’s ancestors had not been thinking about Muggle travel when they build the place. Not that that was surprising at all. Draco’s ancestors had been more focused on Muggle hindering than helping, shockingly enough.

He gave the retreating Manor a glance over his shoulder as his taxi soon vanished down the country lanes. Perhaps he ought to think about getting his mother live-in help. It was a shame he couldn’t afford it. He could get another job? Keep the John Lewis work full-time as well as his teaching assistant position. It would be difficult, but perhaps he could do it.

* * *

“You’re a fool if you don’t think you ought to get it checked out,” Pansy huffed, giving the trolley a vigorous shove.

“I hardly think I’m a fool for not wanting to draw attention to the fact my soul mark clearly has a fucking period,” Draco scowled, moving out of the way of a particularly viciously aimed old woman’s elbow. He had grown used it in the last couple of weeks, a constant ache in his side reminding him that his soul mark was having _a_ _moment_. 

Pansy pushed the trolley into him. Draco swore as the wheels hit his heels. “Stop equating emotions with periods, you fucking dickhead,” she said loudly, earning a look of startled disapproval from the woman with the elbows.

“Sorry,” Draco muttered, holding his hands up in defeat and taking a large and deliberate step away from Pansy’s trolley. “I just want it to sort itself out.”

“You never know,” Greg said from where he was inspecting the shopping list. “There could just be someone called Parry Porkinson who is waiting for you to fall head over heels in love with them.”

“Don’t be a prat,” Draco said, trying not to cross his arms and sulk in the middle of Lidl.

Greg rolled his eyes and picked up a couple of loaves of bread that could be kept in the freezer. “I was just trying to be positive, but if you really want, we can all accept the fact your body is trying to tell you you’re in love with Harry Potter.”

Draco squawked and stopped in the middle of the aisle.

“I think we ought to do some research,” Pansy said, causing Greg to groan. Neither seemed to have acknowledged the fact Draco had perished in the middle of the supermarket.

“Can’t we just deliver Draco in a bow to Potter’s house?” Greg suggested. Draco resented the hopeful tone in his voice and hoped that he choked on the waffles he was currently inspecting.

“No, we cannot!” Draco said, finally managing to find his voice. Unfortunately, it came out a lot squeakier than he would have liked, so Pansy and Greg continued to ignore him.

Pansy hummed and reached into the trolley to reshelve the waffles Greg had just put in. Greg gave her a look of pure betrayal, but Pansy ignored him. She was on one of her irritating health kicks. “I’m going to get some books out of the library.”

“Fantastic,” Draco grumbled.

“It could be helpful,” Greg said, reaching for the waffles again when Pansy’s back was turned.

“I just want to shut my eyes and pretend it's not happening to me,” Draco said, sounding like the child he was acting like.

“Well, that will certainly be helpful,” Greg deadpanned.

Pansy laughed. It was a sharp, loud sound that drew everyone’s attention around her. Draco admired the way Pansy had thrown off all the shits she’d had to give. She was currently dressed in bright pink yoga leggings and an oversized hoodie with the words  _ Wine Run  _ printed on the back. 

“I’m going to the library whether you’re with me or not,” Pansy said, shooting Draco a look that said she knew he would be there. 

His love of learning was why he was studying to become a primary school teacher. He wasn’t good enough at any Muggle subject to aim for any level higher than that yet, but maybe one day.

“Depends on whether or not I’m free,” Draco sniffed.

Pansy rolled her eyes, and turned back to berating Greg for trying to sneak in a packet of cupcakes.

“I’m curvy and I like it!” Greg groaned, holding the cupcake packet high above his head and miles out of Pansy’s reach.

Pansy glared up at him until he caved and put the packet back on the shelf. “Your body is a temple, Greg! You’ll be thanking me in years to come!” 

“I won’t,” Greg muttered, causing Draco to snicker as they continued to squabble through Lidl, picking up the food they needed. Draco wasn’t sure why it had fallen to the three of them to go shopping today, as it proved ineffective nearly every time. 

They had just walked outside of Lidl, arms laden with bags, when a familiar voice had paused them in their tracks.

“Pansy! Draco! Greg! No fucking way!” Millicent Bulstrode drawled, sauntering down the street towards them.

Draco did a double take. Gone was the chubby, miserable looking girl he’d known at Hogwarts, and in her place was a confident woman. She’d by no means lost any weight, but there was now a smile on her face and a fitted suit on her body.

“Millie!” Pansy laughed, her face an expression of half-shock and half-delight. “It’s been yonks!”

“I knew it was you, fucking bitch,” Millicent said, pulling Pansy in for a hug, before drawing back and giving Draco and Greg a friendly smile. “It has been yonks, what have you been up to?”

The three of them exchanged a look before Pansy shrugged. “Oh you know, just been about.”

Millicent laughed, and Draco had never heard her sound so carefree. Despite taking up a lot of space, Millicent had always seemed like she didn’t want to be noticed. Now she owned it. Draco was happy for her. “I’ll say, what the fuck are you wearing, Pans?” Millicent said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yoga gear, I’ve got a class later,” Pansy shrugged, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear and stepping back closer to Draco.

Millicent nodded. “Well look, I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got a meeting I’ve got to get to,” she smiled at them all again, “but I’m having a New Year’s party at my place and I’ll send you the floo coordinates? It’d be great to see you!”

“How will you send them to us?” Greg asked, and Draco debated thumping his friend around the head. Draco wasn’t ashamed of where he lived and how he lived now per se, but he didn’t feel the need to go sharing details with people from the past. Draco wanted the past to stay exactly where it belonged — Greg and Pansy being the exception.

Millicent reminded him too much of the person he’d been, and that had been a nasty piece of work. He knew he’d said a fair few snide remarks about Millicent’s weight during his time at Hogwarts. He wanted to apologise, but it didn’t seem the right time. He wasn’t sure if there was ever going to be a right time for something like that.

Millicent winked. “I have my ways. Anyway, got to run, but I’ll owl you!” She said, giving them all a wave before sauntering off down the street.

They all watched her go, jaws slack.

“What the fuck will Hume and Jess think if a fucking owl knocks on our window to deliver a letter?” Draco asked after a moment’s thought. He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one up, lifting the packet out of Pansy’s reach when she made a grab for them.

“We could always Obliviate them?” Pansy said, pulling out her own cigarettes and scowling at Draco. Cigarettes were expensive and she wasn’t bumming them off him because she fancied it.

“I thought your body was a temple,” Greg said snidely. Pansy flipped him off and took a drag of smoke. “And we’re not Obliviating our housemates,” Greg sighed as they set off home. “We’ll just have to make sure they don’t see.”

Draco was sure Greg once again was far too optimistic.

* * *

Draco dropped down beside Jessica on the sofa,and kicked his legs over her lap. Jessica grunted but didn’t throw him off.

The TV was showing a travel advert and Draco swallowed as he was reminded of bright eyes and a quick smile… and Potter kicking him out after, the stupid prick.

“Aren’t you meant to be at work?” Draco asked to distract himself, scowling as Jessica reached over and stole one of his crisps. He was the only person in the house who bought prawn cocktail crisps, yet he did not seem to be the only one who ate them.

“I’m sick,” Jessica said. Draco raised his eyebrow, and she glanced at him, a wicked smile curling around her mouth. “Very sick,” she nodded, coughing pathetically before stealing another one of his crisps.

Jessica Denvers was the only member of the house who was still in total possession of her family wealth. The only day she worked was Saturday at a high-end Muggle clothes shop, selling overly expensive suits to people with more money than sense. Draco knew that was him being bitter because he had had robes that cost the same amount or more as a child.

“I hope your acting was better than that,” Humeara huffed as she came into the room.

“They’re my crisps!” Draco groaned at the sight of the pink bag in Humeara’s hand.

Humeara stopped. “Oh, sorry, I can put them back if you want?”

“No, go on,” Draco muttered, waving his hand at her. Draco tried not to resent the day Humeara had found out that prawn cocktail crisps were halal.

Humeara Owasil was too sweet to refuse and this made her more dangerous than Pansy and Jessica combined. She was in the house because she had been disowned from her family for refusing to break up with her boyfriend. Humeara had explained it was because her Muslim family didn’t approve of her Christian boyfriend.

Draco hadn’t realised the complexities of the Muggle world until he began living in it. He didn’t know there were different religions that affected who you could or couldn’t date. He didn’t know how seriously Muggles took different skin colours. He’d thought of Muggles as…well…Muggles. A large group of people who didn’t have magic, but Muggle society was just as, if not  _ more _ complex, than wizarding society.

It had been a delightful and completely unsurprising surprise to find out that no matter where you went, wizarding society or Muggle society, people were still homophobic.

Lucius would be thrilled to know that Draco may have been exiled from the wizarding world but he was still being called a  _ little poof _ .

Draco’s traitorous mind wandered back to Potter in New Zealand and what he was doing — whatever heroic thing he probably got up to on his travels. Potter was probably too noble to just get flat out drunk and fuck people every night. Draco pushed the thought of Potter fucking people from his mind as he returned his attention to the TV. He was not dwelling on Potter like a lovesick teenager no matter what his soul mark tried to suggest.

“Oooh new episode,” Humeara said, squishing down on the other side of Draco. “What’s happened so far?”

“Rob’s confessed to Amanda that he tried to use a love potion on her to gain power at the Queen’s table,” Jessica said, not looking away from the show.

Humeara hummed in, interested. “Why is he confessing again? I thought he’d got away with it?”

“Nope,” Draco said, “Kourtney discovered his secret brewing room.”

Draco had tried to pretend that  _ The Magicians’ Game  _ didn’t interest him. He’d tried to sit there with his nose in the air whenever Jessica and Humeara put the show on. He’d tried to mock Pansy when she’d started watching it —  Greg still grumbled that it was rubbish —  but Draco had caved and admitted that it was an addictive show.

He was pretty sure that there had to be a Squib or a Muggle-born or some wizard relation on the writing team, because a few of their ideas came very close to the wizarding history it was based on.

“Do you think he’ll die?” Humeara asked as Rob grovelled on the screen.

“Hope so,” Draco said.

“Yeah, Amanda’s going to kill him for trying to use her. Think how fucked it is forcing someone to love you!” Jessica said, taking a crisp and throwing it at the TV. “Basically a fucking rapist!” Jessica swore.

That had been another thing Draco hadn’t considered until befriending Muggles and starting to watch  _ The Magicians’ Game _ , how fucked things like love potions were. They had simply been part of wizarding life. A game if anything. He’d found it hilarious that year everyone had been trying to give Potter love potions. Draco was no longer surprised to find out that the things he’d been taught as a child were wrong.

“Hello,” Pansy said, popping her head around the door before swearing loudly. “You watched it without me!”

“Sorry,” Draco, Jessica, and Humeara echoed, none of them sounding sorry in the slightest.

“Arseholes,” Pansy muttered, stalking over to the armchair and sitting down in it, groaning loudly as the credits started rolling. “Just don’t spoil it for me,” Pansy said. “Also, Draco, we’re going to Millie’s for New Year’s. I’ve sorted it all.”

“Millie?” Jessica said. “You don’t have any friends called Millie.”

“You don’t know most of our friends,” Draco said, earning himself a slap around the head.

“You don’t have any friends,” Jessica said, dodging out of the way as Draco tried to hit her back.

“Children,” Pansy sighed, glaring at them. “Anyway,” she continued, “Mil said that Blaise would be there, so that’ll be nice.”

Draco said nothing. He’d never been particularly friendly with Blaise. He knew Pansy had liked him though; they’d grown especially close in sixth year whilst Draco had his breakdown. “Will Theo be there?” Draco asked, trying to sound like he didn’t care.

Pansy gave him a look that said she didn’t believe his bullshit for a moment. 

“Who’s Theo?” Humeara asked, poking Draco hard in the ribs.

Draco squirmed and scowled. Apparently he needed to work on his  _ I don’t give a shit  _ voice.

“Draco’s ex,” Pansy said. “Anyway, I don’t know if—”

“He is not my ex,” Draco interrupted.

“Did you just shag him like you are this Potter bloke?” Jessica asked. Draco glowered at her and she shrugged. “Hey, you know I fully support free shagging without feelings. It’s annoying as fuck when people are desperate to tell you you like someone when you don’t.”

_ Jessica had no idea _ , Draco thought as his soul mark flickered to the front of his mind. Pansy, Greg, and he hadn’t quite figured out how Draco was going to explain that to Jessica and Humeara yet. Pansy and Draco had told them that they had got drunk one night and ended up at a tattoo parlour to celebrate their friendship. The girls had found it hilarious.

They hadn’t had to explain Greg’s soul mark because Greg didn’t have one. Not all wizards had soul marks, but it was rare not to. Draco had never pitied him for it. Soul marks were a waste of time in Draco’s ever so humble opinion. 

“Agreed,” Draco said.

“Anyway, whether Theo’s there or not, we’re going,” Pansy said, tilting her chin up. “We haven’t seen them in ages, and speaking to Mills, made me realise I…” Pansy trailed off, biting her lip before meeting Draco’s eyes evenly. “I would like to see them all again.”

“Why?” Draco said, trying to keep his tone even and level. “Why would you want to see them? They’re not part of our lives anymore.” None of the Slytherins had made any effort to find them after the war. Draco didn’t care. He understood that he, Pansy, and Greg were pariahs. However, he’d no interest in seeing them now.

“Because.” Pansy cast a glance at Jessica and Humeara, “Because I just do,  all right?”

Draco sighed and leaned down so his head was on Humeara’s lap. He tangled a strand of her dark hair around his finger. He knew Pansy wasn’t done with this conversation and that they would be having it again later where nosy Muggle girls couldn’t listen.

Draco didn’t want to go to a party where he would be surrounded by witches and wizards. He liked his life now, and he’d grown used to it. He’d adapted to the Muggle world, and he was comfortable there. He didn’t want to be thrown head first into the deep end with Millicent’s party.

They barely even knew Millicent now. They didn’t know what her job was, who her friends were, who her soul mark was, they didn’t know who this Millicent Bulstrode was in the slightest. And she didn’t know them.

She didn’t know that Pansy worked her arse off and in her free time designed her own female-friendly and body-positive gym wear. She didn’t know that Greg worked in a florist and that he was bloody good at it. And she certainly didn’t know that Draco helped teach Muggle children and didn’t have a wand.

If people in the wizarding world knew about Draco’s job, they would probably assume that he was biding his time to murder the children. Or that he ate them for breakfast. Draco understood why they would think that, but it wasn’t true, and he didn’t want to invite their judgement into his life.

But if Draco were being honest, what scared him the most was the thought of walking unarmed into a party full of wizards who possibly hated him. He couldn’t defend himself and he wasn’t even sure how much use a wand would be to him at this point. He hadn’t used magic since before his eighteenth birthday. Would he even remember how to do half of it?

Humeara ran a hand through his hair and he smiled up at her, welcoming the comfort.

Despite knowing better, Draco had hoped that would be the end of the conversation. However, he was not surprised in the slightest when Pansy burst into his room later, dragging Greg behind her.

Draco did not want to have this conversation ever, let alone whilst he was in the middle of reading for his course. Pansy began to speak and Draco held up a finger while he finished his page. He could almost feel Pansy’s rage vibrating around the room as he closed his book and set it down on the table beside his bed.

“Yes?” Draco asked, faking a pleasant smile to irritate Pansy further.

Greg snorted from behind her before plastering a serious expression on his face as Pansy spun around to glare at him.

“Greg and I have been talking,” Pansy said, turning back to Draco and crossing her arms, “We want to go to the party.”

“Good for you,” Draco said. “Are you asking my permission?”

Pansy’s glare managed to increase tenfold, but Draco stared back evenly. He knew it was a low blow, but he couldn’t help it. This was all bringing up a lot of old feelings that he would rather leave buried.

“We’re not, but we would like you to come with us?” Greg said, making Draco feel even worse about his comment. They were long past the days when Greg felt the need to ask for Draco’s permission to do things.

“Have you seen the guest list?” Draco asked, playing with the edge of his duvet.

Pansy took that as an invitation to come and plonk herself down beside Draco on his bed. Greg settled down on the floor, his back against the wall.

“No,” Pansy said, “but come on, it’s Millie, it’s not like she’s going to let us walk into a lion's den.”

“Do you mean a group of Gryffindors? Because I’ll give you that, walking into a party full of Gryffindors is the only thing that could make this idea worse,” Draco said.

Greg cleared his throat. “You know you’re shagging a Gryffindor, mate?”

“Potter’s in New Zealand,” Draco snapped, ignoring the way Greg’s eyebrows rose. Greg had learnt that look from him, and Draco refused to have it used against him. “Look, I just don’t want to go.”

“Because you don’t have a wand?” Pansy said. She sounded particularly unsympathetic. Draco glared at her with a look he hoped screamed  _ obviously _ . He’d always been jealous of Snape’s ability to do that.

“Look,” Greg started, and Pansy and Draco both stopped glaring at each other long enough to look at Greg. “We can go and check it out, and if you’re really not comfortable, Draco, we can leave straight away.”

“It’ll be good for you to be in wizarding society again,” Pansy said, reaching over and squeezing his leg.

“There’s nothing for me there, and I don’t understand why you two suddenly want to go back,” Draco said, biting his lip and sighing, “but I’ll think about it.”

Pansy cheered, jumping up on his bed and bouncing up and down.

“Sto—” Draco managed to get out before there was a crack and his bed collapsed beneath them. “I hate you.”

Pansy grinned up at him, and Greg snorted, and within a couple of seconds the two of them were hysterically laughing. Draco managed to hold his glare for a moment before giving in and laughing with them. He tried to let the laughter bury the gnawing fear inside of him about Millicent’s party, but he couldn’t smother it totally.

* * *

No amount of prep with Greg and Pansy could have prepared Draco for the feeling of arriving at Millicent’s house. He’d never been so glad in his life that Millicent had decided to move away from Cornwall where she’d grown up and into London.

It meant that all they’d had to do was navigate the tube so they could find themselves standing outside her door. Pansy had wanted to Apparate but they had decided that it wasn’t worth the risk. They were all too out of touch with magic.

Draco rubbed his side as they waited for the door to swing open. He knew Millicent was going to ask why they hadn’t bothered with the floo, but it wasn’t like they had much choice. They didn’t have a floo.

“I still don’t understand why we’re here,” Draco said.

Pansy turned to look at him and he watched the sharp retort die on her lips. “We can go if you don’t think you’re going to be able to make it.”

Draco stuck his chin up; he was fine. It was those stupid nerves he got sometimes. It had started after the war and had never really faded. The tightness in his chest that could only be brought back by the wizarding world. It was why Draco avoided it at all costs, excluding his mother and… and Potter.

“Yeah, just say the word, Draco, and we can go,” Greg said.

“I’m fine,” Draco said, but the words did nothing to unwind him or to take the tightness away.

Greg and Pansy exchanged a look and for a moment Draco thought they were going to say more. It didn’t make him feel any better when they babied him, and they knew this.

It had been a while since they’d seen the nerves though. He tried to keep it to himself. It was easier to deal with that way.

The door flew open to reveal Millicent in sparkly robes that fell just above her knees and were cinched at the waist.

Draco regretted wearing jeans, even if they were smart black ones. He hadn’t thought anything of it, because he didn’t own any robes anymore. He didn’t need them.

He glanced over at Greg, who was dressed in jeans and a shirt as well. Perhaps they could claim Muggle fashion was the next new wizarding trend. Or maybe it had been and gone since the war. Draco didn’t know. He hadn’t realised how out of his depth he was until he’d thought it was acceptable to arrive at a wizarding New Year’s party in jeans.

Millicent’s robes weren’t too far off Pansy’s dress, though, so maybe the wizarding world was already closer to Muggle fashion than it had been when Draco left.

“You came!” Millicent grinned, pulling Pansy in for a hug before doing the same to Draco and Greg. Draco tried not to cringe at her touch and forced a weak smile onto his face.

If he could spend a year with the Dark Lord in his house, Draco could spend a few hours at Millicent’s with their old friends.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to,” Millicent said, stepping back and gesturing for them to enter. “Blaise bet you wouldn’t, and you’re pretty much the last here, but you made it!”

Draco rolled his eyes. Of course, Blaise would bet they wouldn’t come.

“Where is the fucker?” Pansy asked, and Draco felt a stab of guilt at the way her face lit up. Had Draco been the reason that Pansy had completely cut off the wizarding world? No, that wasn’t his fault. Pansy had made her own decision to leave.

“Just through here in the living room,” Millicent said, falling into step beside Pansy.

Draco swallowed before tilting his chin up and composing his expression. He was fine. He was in control. He didn’t look back at Greg as he strode into Millicent’s house and through to the living room.

The second Draco clocked all those familiar faces, he realised exactly how unfine he was.

Millicent Bulstrode. Blaise Zabini. Daphne Greengrass. Tracey Davis. Each of their faces brought a wave of self-loathing crashing down on Draco as he remembered the way he’d treated them at Hogwarts, as if they were nothing better than his subjects. He hadn’t cared about any of them, not really. He’d liked them better than he’d the rest of the school, but he hadn’t  _ really _ liked them. Aside from Theo and a few of the older years, Draco hadn’t deemed a lot of people worth his time. Greg and Pansy included.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

“Is that Terry Boot?” Pansy spluttered, and Draco was glad she’d said it, not him.

“Yeah,” Millicent said, giving Terry a wave. “He’s my soulmate.”

Draco would have been less shocked if she’d said that she’d found out her soulmate was the Hogwarts Giant Squid.

“That’s nice,” Pansy managed to get out. Draco bit down hard on his lip to stop a sarcastic remark slipping out, because really… Terry Boot? As in the pompous, boring Ravenclaw prat?

Wonders would never cease.

Draco glanced around the room and wondered if Greg had really meant what he said and was up for leaving now. Because Millicent’s party was not just a few of the Slytherins. No, there were Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and… and… Hermione Granger.

Draco thought he was going to be sick. He was actually going to be sick. “Bathroom?” he managed to ask Millicent, who frowned at him and gestured down the hall. Draco took off at the speed of light.

Draco hadn’t made peace with most of the people he’d treated like utter shit earlier in his life. He’d sent out letters after his trial, apologising for all he’d done, but he knew they didn’t really mean anything. He would never expect someone like Granger to forgive him; Draco had done too much for that.

He leaned against the sink, fingers gripping the cold porcelain as he stared into the mirror. He looked like shit.

“Not looking so great, mate,” the mirror chirped, causing Draco to stagger back, only just managing not to land in the loo.

“What the fuck?” Draco whispered, his eyes on the mirror. It had been years since he’d seen a talking mirror; the ones at the Manor had fallen silent when the Dark Lord moved in and had never started talking again. They’d been in the Slytherin bathrooms, but they had never been so rude or so…

“Never seen a talking mirror before?” the mirror asked.

Draco blinked once, and then again. “Have you got an Australian accent?”

There was no way Draco was hiding inside Millicent Bulstrode’s bathroom talking to an Australian mirror. Draco refused to believe this was his life. This was the karma Pansy always talked about now, mocking him for thinking he could rejoin the wizarding without consequence.

You couldn’t dip in and out of wizarding and Muggle society. Draco had learnt that as a child. You picked one and you stuck to it.

“What’s it to you?” the mirror replied as if Draco had insulted it. “You really look like shit.”

Draco’s jaw, despite everything, dropped open as he stared at the mirror, which led to him realising he did look like shit. He hadn’t been sleeping well in the lead up to the party, and it always showed. His skin was paler than usual with dark, bruised bags underneath his eyes.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and bit down hard before pinching his cheeks to try bring some colour into his face. It didn’t do much, and he was pretty sure he heard the mirror snicker at him.

Draco wondered how Millicent would take it if Draco broke her mirror.

Splashing some water onto his face and giving his hands a quick wash with Millicent’s lavender scented soap, Draco tried to compose himself. He could avoid Granger. Draco was sure she would want absolutely nothing to do with him.

Draco paused, his hand reaching for the door knob. Granger’s presence didn’t mean that… No, Potter was in New Zealand, and hopefully Granger had had the good sense to develop better friends than Weasley in the years since they had left Hogwarts.

Draco couldn’t remember if he’d seen in the  _ Prophet  _ that Granger and Weasley had actually started dating after the war… Draco couldn’t say for sure, he’d stopped reading the  _ Prophet  _ pretty quickly after his trial.

“What were you doing in there? Having a wank?” Blaise asked as Draco rejoined the group.

Draco rolled his eyes, a smile twitching at his lips despite everything. “Good to know you’re still as big of an arse as I remember.”

Blaise shrugged, and tipped his champagne flute to Draco in cheers. “Right back at you.”

“He was probably doing his hair,” Pansy said.

Draco smoothed his hands down his jeans and plastered on a fake smile. “I’ll have you know I look this good naturally.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Millicent said, and Draco laughed again, surprising himself. He remembered Millie had always had a dry sense of humour, but she’d never turned it on him before.

He wasn’t used to this dynamic with the Slytherin lot. They hadn’t ever really dared to take the piss of him at school. He liked that they weren’t afraid to anymore, it made things more comfortable.

It reminded him that he wasn’t the person that he used to be, that things had changed. It was strangely comforting to have his school friends insult him.

Draco stuck with the Slytherin lot for the next hour or so, gradually becoming more and more drunk as Blaise kept passing him drinks.

Draco successfully avoided Granger and nearly everyone from the other houses. It seemed no one wanted to speak to him. He was fine with that. He knew what he’d done and why they would hate him, but he didn’t like the itching sensation it left on the back of his neck whenever he felt someone staring at him. He wanted to go back home to where no one judged him for his past mistakes.

Granger had looked like she was going to come over and speak to him at one point, but then thankfully appeared to decide against it.

Terry Boot had chatted to him a bit, though, before kissing Millicent on the cheek and wandering off. Draco had tried not to look  _ too  _ shocked every time they held hands.

Blaise had told him that Millie and Granger worked together and that’s why Granger was here. He didn’t say were Weasley and Potter were, and Draco didn’t dare ask. Blaise had given him enough shit for talking about Potter at school.

The main person whose absence stuck out like a sore thumb to Draco was Theo’s… He wanted to ask where Theo was and why he wasn’t here. Did the others still talk to Theo or had he cut them all of off? Was it because Draco was here that Theo wasn’t?

Draco was leaning against the wall beside the fireplace, talking to Millie who was lounging back in a cream armchair, with Pansy perched on the armrest, eagerly pressing Millie for everything she knew regarding high society soul mark gossip. Millie was proving rather useless because she’d never cared about gossip; even at school she’d refused to join in their bitching sessions.

Draco glanced over his shoulder as the floo wooshed to life, curious to see who was bothering to turn up to a New Year’s party an hour and a half before midnight. His blood ran cold as he spotted a familiar head of messy black hair climbing out of the red brick fireplace.

“Sorry we’re late, Molly cooked enough for a small village.”

Draco’s eyes snapped back to Pansy, his body rigid as a plank. Pansy’s mouth dropped open, her eyes fixed on the spot behind Draco where another voice sounded.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t booked the latest Portkey home from New Zealand we would have been able to eat and still arrive on time,” Weasley’s voice came from right behind Draco, and he didn’t dare to turn around.

“Whatever,” Potter laughed, and Draco tried not to be sick. He wasn’t meant to see Potter in a situation like this.

Potter was only supposed to exist in gay clubs and bars, his hair plastered to his hair with sweat, and a loose, easy grin on his face as he looked at Draco. His hands tight on Draco’s hips as their bodies moved in tandem to the music. They were supposed to only exist together in that liminal space where the past could fade away.

“Hey, everyone,” Weasley said. Draco dared to peer over his shoulder just in time to catch Weasley waving at the laughing crowd before strolling over to talk to Neville Longbottom, another person Draco had been desperately avoiding all night.

Potter leaned his hand against the wall and took a deep breath. He looked good, Draco thought, his nose wrinkling in irritation. Potter’s skin had gained a deep golden tan in the couple of weeks he’d been away. He didn’t seem to be aware anyone was watching him.

As if Potter had heard Draco’s thoughts he looked up, his lips quirking into a half smile. “Hey, Malfoy,” Potter said before turning towards the crowd and slowly stilling. “Malfoy?” Potter spluttered, spinning around to stare at Draco, his jaw dropped in an unattractive manner and his eyes bulging.

Draco had a feeling Potter’s mind was doing the same thing Draco’s had a moment ago about the fact Draco wasn’t supposed to exist in spaces like this.

Draco glanced back at Pansy who was gazing up at him, dark eyes filled with concern, an unspoken question dangling between them.

_ “Do you need to leave?” _

Draco could feel the room staring at them, questioning the way that Potter had greeted him. Perhaps they would chalk it up to shock at Potter seeing Draco for the first time in years. Draco was pretty sure that no matter what happened, no one’s logical first thought would be  _ perhaps the Saviour and the ex-Death Eater have hooked up a few times and this is the first time they’ve seen each other in a social situation sober _ .

No, no one was ever going to think of him and Potter like that. Not that Draco cared, it was just his soul mark that seemed to be going haywire.

Pansy had found nothing in her books and was still berating him to go to the Ministry about it. The Unspeakables studied love and soul marks and would be able to help him out.

Draco didn’t need the Ministry’s help, what he needed was to find Parry Porkinson who was evidently his true love. There was no such need to overthink this. Draco knew how he felt about Potter and he knew how Potter felt about him. They could not and would never be soulmates. His soul mark twinged at the thought, and Draco put it up to not enough champagne and promptly downed the rest of his glass.

“Harry!” Granger hurried back into the room, her hair slipping free of her updo.

“Not like I’m your boyfriend or anything,” Weasley drawled, getting laughs from the room. It seemed that either Granger had said  _ fuck it _ to soul marks or had the misfortune of having Weasley as her soulmate.

No matter how heinous a name Parry Porkinson was, there was no way the person could be worse than Weasley. Even on the off chance that Greg and Pansy were right and Draco’s soul mate was trying to say  _ Harry Potter _ , Draco would still preferred  _ that _ than Weasley.

“Harry has been in New Zealand for the last few weeks, and you I saw a couple of hours ago,” Granger said, shooting Weasley a smile so fond that Draco debated retching into the fireplace. “Also he...” Granger trailed off, glancing between Potter and Draco. She looked like she was doing some very quick maths.

Draco wished he hadn’t finished off his champagne so he could drink instead of standing there like a lemon.

“He?” Millicent prompted. Draco had forgot she was still lounging on the chair, observing them all with her far too-knowing eyes.

“He said he’d missed me in his last letter,” Granger said, stepping forward and taking Potter’s hand, “and we have so much to catch up on.” And with that she promptly dragged Potter from the room. Weasley stared after her with a bemused expression before shrugging and strolling after his friends.

Draco wondered if everyone else in the room was aware that Granger had just sprouted some rather poorly made-up bullshit.

“Anyone for more champagne?” Blaise cried, rousing a cheer from the group.

Draco held up his glass in agreement, still staring at the door where Potter, Granger, and Weasley had wandered through.

“You okay?” Pansy murmured, her hand squeezing his wrist softly. Draco glanced back at her and nodded. He felt surprisingly okay, probably thanks to the champagne. “More champagne here!” Pansy called, waving her glass at Blaise who made a beeline over. Draco hadn’t missed the way Blaise’s eyes had followed Pansy all night.

Draco held up his glass in suit; more champagne was definitely the right answer.

* * *

Draco staggered back into the kitchen and leaned over the sink. There was a questionable substance in the corner of it. If he squinted it looked like the guacamole that Jess and Pansy were obsessed with, but he wasn’t quite sure. He also wasn’t willing to taste it in case it was someone’s vomit. Draco had seen Hannah Abbott looking extremely green at one point.

Flipping the tap on, Draco watched the water run into the sink and slowly poked his finger through the water, watching it bend.

He should return to Pansy and Greg, but he’d been stuck by their sides all night and it was nice to have a moment to himself just to breathe. He was proud of himself; aside from the near breakdown at the beginning of the night, he’d made it through with minimal struggle. Sure, there had been a couple of times when he’d been tempted to grab Greg and beg him to get him out, but he’d stuck it out.

He’d known that Greg and Pansy really wanted to enjoy the evening, and neither he nor his nerves had ruined it for them..

It had been hard, though, with everyone either staring at him or ignoring him. He didn’t blame any of them for not wanting anything to do with him, but he wanted to tell them he wasn’t that person now.

He stared at the flowing water. His students would never think of him like that, they all loved him. They loved Mr Malfoy.

What would Draco do if Pansy and Greg wanted to re-enter the wizarding world after all this? Would he try to join it too? He could always apply for the Muggle Studies Professor at Hogwarts.

He didn’t know what was more laughable: the idea of anyone ever letting him near Hogwarts or applying for the Muggle Studies Professor job.

He could see that conversation going down swimmingly. “ _ Yes, you’re right, the last Muggle Studies Professor was in fact murdered on my dining room table, but I’d still love the job _ .”

And then there was Potter. Stupid Potter, who had drunk too much too quickly and hadn’t left Weasley’s or Granger’s sides. Not that Draco cared what he did.

He wondered if Potter had kissed anyone when the clock struck twelve, welcoming in 2002 in style. Draco had received a sloppy kiss from Pansy and a firm  _ no _ from Greg.

“I don’t think Millicent will be impressed if you try to drown yourself in her sink.”

Despite himself Draco’s lips quirked up into a half-smile at Potter’s voice. He shut the tap off and turned around slowly, steading himself against the counter.

“Speak of the devil and he will appear,” Draco mumbled to himself before frowning, “wait I mean  _ think _ of the devil.”

Potter laughed and Draco was spectacularly irritated to learn that it was still  charming. In fact, Potter had an even nicer laugh than Draco remembered. It made Draco think of summer days spent lounging in the sun and that content feeling of being warmed through to your core.

Fucking Potter and his stupid laugh.

“You’re drunk,” Potter said, playing with his champagne glass.

Draco rolled his eyes. “With observation skills like that remind me why you haven’t become an Auror.”

Potter had the audacity to laugh again. Draco debated drowning himself under the tap to avoid thinking about the way Potter’s laugh made him feel.

Draco knew he didn’t like Potter. Potter was just a shag, and if the world and its wife would stop trying to tell Draco that he’d feelings for Potter, he would appreciate it,  _ ta ever so. _

Sighing, Draco stared at Potter. “I thought you were still in New Zealand?” He’d meant it to be a statement.

“I came home early,” Potter said, shrugging his shoulders before placing his empty champagne glass on the side. 

Draco scoffed. “I can see that.”

This time Potter rolled his eyes. “No need to be an arse, I didn’t know you’d be here either.”

Draco was not sure if Potter intended for the  _ I wouldn’t have come otherwise _ to hang in the air, or if Draco was merely paranoid. 

“What made you come home early?” Draco asked, wrapping his arms around himself. There was something in Potter’s gaze that made him feel stripped raw. He wanted a cigarette.

Draco rubbed his soul mark absent-mindedly; the alcohol had dulled the sensation. He wondered how Parry Porkinson was spending New Year. He hoped Parry was having a good night and wasn’t spending it stood in an old school friend’s kitchen, talking to a twat they’d shagged a few times. Also, out of pure selfishness Draco hoped Parry Porkinson had a cock.

Potter shuffled his feet. “Something changed, and I needed to see Hermione.”

“Why?” Draco asked. He wanted to tell himself he didn’t care, but he’d always been a nosy bugger.

Potter narrowed his eyes and scowled at Draco. “None of your business.”

“Brilliant,” Draco sighed, stepping forward and wincing as his soul mark gave a particularly nasty twinge through the alcohol haze. Draco blamed Potter for that too. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to the party.”

Draco took two steps and collided with Potter, who for some reason hadn’t taken the hint and moved out of the way.

“What’s up with your soul mark?” Potter said, his voice low and his hand squeezing Draco’s hip. A flare of pain shot through Draco’s body.

“Nothing,” Draco said, glaring at Potter and gritting his teeth. Draco missed the good old days of Hogwarts where Potter was short enough that he’d had to look up to Draco. Now they were the same height.

“You keep rubbing it. Does it hurt?” Potter said, his eyes burning into Draco’s. There was a tremour to Potter’s tone, and Draco would be more interested if it weren’t for the fact his soul mark was currently on fire. The burning heat was pulsating across his side and through his back and ribs.

“Yes!” Draco spat, shoving Potter off him and taking a ragged breath as the pain faded. “Yes, it fucking hurts, okay?”

Potter was panting too, his hands pressing where  _ Ginny Weasley  _ was scrawled onto his side under his t-shirt. “Mine too.”

Draco froze; no, there was no way this was happening. There was no way his soul mark was changing  _ and  _ reacting to Potter’s body contact. Draco had never heard of anything like this happening before! Draco realised how many holes his parents had left in his  _ soulmate _ knowledge. Why hadn’t there been a Hogwarts class in it? Why had no one prepared him for this?

“No, it’s not,” Draco said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Potter managed to scowl again. Draco was starting to realise that there was a reason he and Potter didn’t socialise. “Yes, it is?” Potter said slowly. “Has yours changed?”

“Changed?” Draco repeated. He wasn’t sure whether he was acting dumb to avoid having to answer Potter’s question or because in the last two minutes he’d managed to lose every single one of his brain cells.

“Changed,” Potter said again, like they were both a pair of parrots. Draco did nothing to negate the bird simile when he squawked as Potter yanked up his shirt revealing his soft, tanned stomach, that train of wiry chest hair that trailed down towards… Draco forced his eyes away, caught sight of Potter’s soul mark, and promptly turned around and vomited into Millicent’s sink.

He felt Potter’s hand settle on his back for a moment, and that searing pain returned, causing Draco to throw up again. Thankfully Potter’s hand was gone as quickly as it arrived.

“Malfoy?” Potter said before sighing, “It’s nothing you hadn’t really seen before.” Draco presumed Potter was attempting to joke because he most certainly had  _ not  _ seen  _ that _ before.

Draco held up his hand to signal for Potter to give him a moment as he heaved. When it became apparent he’d chundered quite enough, Draco turned the tap on and started cleaning the sink.

“I know this is unideal,” Potter started, but he trailed off when Draco continued to ignore him. It was a tragic way to start the new year that he was choosing to wash his own vomit away rather than speak to Potter. 

“Look, Malfoy,” Potter said, starting to sound more irritable again. Draco liked an irritated Potter. Draco only knew how to handle two types of Potter: irritated and horny. Draco was not equipped or prepared to deal with a Potter who wanted to calmly discuss soul marks.

Draco glanced up, the ugly swan soap dish on Millicent’s sink staring at him judgmentally. First the Australian mirror and now this. 

Draco turned around slowly, his legs shaky, as he continued to grip the sink.. He hated throwing up.

“Potter,” Draco said, swallowing and trying to ignore the foul taste in his mouth. He would kill for a cleaning charm or breath freshening charm of any kind. “I am asking you to tell me that I need to go to the optician’s.”

Potter’s shoulders deflated and he shrugged. “Sorry, but you saw right.” Potter opened his mouth to continue before frowning and saying, “How do you know what an optician is?”

Draco decided the best way to answer that question was to ignore it. He’d forgotten it was only Muggles who went to opticians, and wizards went to the St Mungo’s Eye department. “Please just tell me  _ Drinny Maley  _ was someone you met in New Zealand or this is a new tattoo?”

Potter shook his head and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Nope, that used to say  _ Ginny Weasley _ . I don’t know when it changed. I didn’t notice until someone asked me who  _ Drinny Maley _ was.”

Draco didn’t let himself think about the possible situations that could have involved someone seeing Potter’s soul mark.

“And that’s why you came home early?” Draco said, his tone flat. He didn’t have the energy for this, and he wanted to go home and curl up in his bed. He hated soul marks. He fucking  _ hated _ them.

“That’s why I came home early. I wanted to speak to Hermione because she…” Potter sighed, “because she works with soul marks.”

Draco didn’t often find himself lost for words, but this time he was truly rendered speechless.

“I’d really like it if you’d come to the Ministry with me and Hermione to try and figure out what is going on,” Potter said.

It was a fine straw, but it was the final one for Draco. He couldn’t take any more, not tonight, and ideally not ever.

“No,” Draco said firmly, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said no, that is why not!” Draco said, not caring that his voice was rising. He’d been through a lot in the last few minutes and it was becoming a bit overwhelming. He’d been feeling anxious all night and this was just too much.

Potter stepped closer like he was going to grab Draco’s arm before thinking better of it. “Don’t you want to figure this out?”

“No,” Draco said, shaking his head again. “No, I don’t. I don’t care what my stupid mark says or what your stupid marks says. Fate can go fuck itself.”

He pushed off the sink, ignoring his shaky legs, and made to stride away from Potter when Potter’s hand reached out and gripped his wrist.

Draco’s knees buckled from the flaring pain, and Potter let out a grunt. Draco ripped his arm free; he wanted to go home. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed, glaring at Potter before striding out of the room. He managed to hold it together for the entire journey home as he sat huddled between Pansy and Greg on the back seat of the bus. Pansy’s hand rested on his knee as he trembled, but he couldn’t stop shaking.

Pansy started to ask him what had happened when they got home, but Draco couldn’t do it. He couldn’t have  _ that  _ conversation, so he shoved past her and ran up to his room. He caught Greg murmuring for Pansy to let him go as Draco slammed his door behind him and curled up under his sheets.

Draco wasn’t ready to accept what any of it meant, and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to waking up tomorrow and having to face it all again. Tomorrow would be even worse, because he was going to have to face it sober.

* * *

Draco had varying degrees of success spending the entire week hiding from Pansy. He’d tried to hide from Greg as well, but Greg had just given him one of those  _ looks  _ and sighed before saying:

“I won’t make you speak about it if you don’t want?”

Draco did not want to speak about it at all. Not in the slightest. He wanted it all to go away. However, he couldn’t make it all go away because he’d awoken the morning after Millicent’s New Year’s party to an unpleasant sensation in his side.

Because it turned out that the Universe hated him, Draco had been unsurprised that when he looked in the mirror, said unpleasant sensation was caused by his soul mark shifting.

It had been peculiar to watch the way the letters flickered and shifted as if they were unable to decide what they wanted.

“ _ Anything but Harry Potter,” _ Draco had murmured, swallowing as he watched himself in the mirror. He’d reached out as if to touch the mirror’s grubby surface, as if to touch the reflection of those shifting, shimmering letters, but at the last minute he dropped his hand, worried he would jinx it. “Anything but Potter,” Draco had said again. By the time his soul mark had settled, it read  _ Hansy Parky _ . It was  _ still  _ better than Harry Potter.

He’d tried not to notice the red stain of his eyes, his messy hair, and overall haggard appearance. He’d tried to blame it on the fact he was hanging out of his arse. However, it had been a week since Millicent’s, and Draco wasn’t feeling better.

If anything he was feeling worse. He was tired, and he ached. The bags under his eyes were starting to have their own bags, and sometimes when he lay down he swore he could hear a distant thudding noise. Draco was going to kill Potter. The idiot had clearly driven him mad.

It had been his first day back at school today now that the holidays were over, and he’d spent the entire day trying not to fall asleep, reading to the kids, marking their work, and helping Mrs Cutler with the lessons they had spent the prior week planning.

“I’m planning to make stir fry if you want some?” Humeara said, not looking back at Draco as she twisted the key in the blue front door marked 41.

“Please,” Draco said, running a hand through his hair and shifting his messenger bag onto his other shoulder. It was heavy with the projects the children had produced over the Christmas holidays that he now had to mark.

The warmth from the house was a welcome relief from the crisp January air when they stepped through the door. He rubbed his hands together, breathing into them as Humeara launched into another rant about her stuck up boss, stopping only to greet Jess, who was perched on the bottom step, flicking through her newest photography book.

“Hello, darlings,” Jess drawled, glancing up with a wicked grin. Her eyes latched onto Draco’s face. “There’s a surprise for you in the kitchen, Draco, and I’m dying to see what you think of it.”

Draco didn’t trust Jess with that smile. She looked far too curious, her sharp eyes waiting to see how he would react.

“What is it?” he said, tapping his fingers against the strap of his bag. He didn’t like surprises anymore. He’d never liked them much as a child and had spent the build-up to his birthday and Yule hunting around the Manor for his presents.

Jessica’s smile flickered before fading, and she tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. “Pansy brought him in.”

_ Him _ .

Draco’s blood ran cold and he stepped closer to Jessica, his fingers tightening around his bag strap. There was no way Pansy would have done  _ that _ . Draco was just being paranoid.

“Apparently, Hume and I have to go somewhere else while you’re talking,” Jessica continued before glancing at Humeara. “Want to go to Spoons?”

Humeara sighed. “I wanted to make a stir fry, but sure we can go to Spoons instead.”

Both girls gave Draco looks, before Jessica slowly got to her feet and added her book to the pile of things that needed to go upstairs. Despite the fact that people did in fact move their stuff upstairs, the pile never really diminished.

“You’ll be fine,” Humeara promised as Draco took a step towards the kitchen. He could hear muttering and his heart began beating hard and fast, the sound loud enough in his ears that he could have sworn he could hear two hearts.

“Brilliant,” Draco managed to snap, but it was half-hearted at best and the pitying look Jessica gave him irked Draco even more.

Running off a burning need to show Jessica that he didn’t need her pity, Draco strode into the kitchen before completely regretting it and making to turn around and walk straight back out.

“Draco,” Pansy said, her eyes latching onto him instantly and freezing him in his path. “How was work?”

Draco nearly laughed. He couldn’t help it, the situation was just so ridiculous. Pansy was currently perched atop of the kitchen counter — noticeably not in yoga gear for once, but her fingers still adorned by silver rings — while Potter stood awkwardly in the corner.

“It was great, thanks,” Draco said, dumping his bag on the floor and flicking the kettle on. “I’ve had a pretty decent day, or at least that was true until about thirty seconds ago when I found out my kitchen has been overrun by Gryffindors.” 

“Hardly overrun,” Potter scoffed, and Draco glared at him.

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco sighed, grabbing a tea bag from the ugly gnome pot Greg had bought one day.

Potter shuffled awkwardly. “I wanted to talk about your soul mark.”

“What soul mark?” Draco said, not caring that he was being an arse.

Potter scowled. “Don’t be a twat, Malfoy, you think I want to have this conversation?”

“You’re the one forcing it,” Draco said, making himself a cup of tea and refusing to offer one to Potter. If he made Potter tea, then Potter might think it was an invitation to stay.

Potter threw his hands up in the air and stepped closer to Draco. “We can’t ignore this! It’s making me feel like shit, and are you going to tell me you haven’t been feeling like shit as well?”

Now that Potter was closer, Draco could see the heavy bags under Potter’s eyes and that his golden tan was already starting to wane in the week he’d been back. Perhaps Potter should run off on another holiday.

“Everyone knows January is a tiring month,” Draco said, wincing as the tea burnt his mouth.

Potter looked for a moment like he was going to punch him, and Draco nearly laughed at the familiarity of it all. They were a world away from the easy nights they had spent in Potter’s bed.

“Malfoy,” Potter sighed, “please can we just speak about this?” Potter threw a glance at Pansy, who was still perched atop the counter, sucking on her rings. “Somewhere private.”

Draco debated continuing the hissy fit route, but he knew Potter was  _ just as,  _ if not  _ more _ stubborn than he was. “Fine,” Draco said, “we can talk about this in my room.”

“Thank you,” Potter said, giving Pansy an awkward smile and letting Draco lead him up to his room.

Draco dropped down onto his bed, watching as Potter glanced around the room before deciding where to sit.

The last time they were in a bedroom together it certainly hadn’t been  _ this  _ awkward. Then again, the last time they had been in a bedroom together they hadn’t been on the verge of becoming possible soulmates. They had been drunk and ready for a shag.

Draco pushed those thoughts from his mind as Potter, upon realising there was nowhere else, sat down tentatively on the end of Draco’s bed.

Draco wanted to laugh, but instead he took a sip of his tea and waited for Potter to speak.

It was strange having Potter here in Draco’s Muggle house, in his Muggle room. This whole thing was never meant to become this intimate. Potter was never supposed to become part of his life. It was unavoidable now though, what with Draco’s soul mark.

He didn’t have to wait long as within moments Potter blurted out: “So, can you feel it too?”

“Feel what?” Draco sighed, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. “Are we talking about the exhaustion, the headaches, or the general sensation of my soul mark changing?”

Potter smiled even though there was nothing funny about the situation. “All of it, I guess.”

“Yes, then, I feel everything.”

_ Everything _ . He couldn’t push Potter from his mind for a moment, because Draco’s soul mark was always there, prickling against his skin.

He could feel that thudding in his head too, thrumming in his bloodstream as he met Potter’s eyes.

“What does yours say now?” Potter asked, biting his lip.

“What does yours say?” Draco countered.

Potter raised his eyebrows and tugged up his shirt. “Gaco Wefoy.”

Draco couldn’t help it, he laughed. Taking in  _ Gaco Wefoy _ in that familiar black chicken scratch on Potter’s soft side was bizarre.

“Gaco Wefoy,” Draco said, shaking his head. He held his hand out to touch the letters before remembering the pain that touching Potter brought, and dropped his hand. “What a fucking awful name.”

“It’s kind of your name, you know.”

“It is nothing like my name,” Draco sniffed, narrowing his eyes at Potter, who laughed.

“Gaco and Draco sound pretty similar,” Potter shrugged, dropping his top. “Anyway, what does yours say?”

Draco sighed and took another sip of his tea. “Hansy Parky.”

“Hansy Parky?” Potter spluttered, shaking his head. “Makes me sound like the kind of person who walks around groping people.” Draco arched an eyebrow and Potter grinned before continuing, “You know, like  _ handsy _ .”

“It’s still better than Parry Porkinson,” Draco said.

Potter pulled a face. “Yeah, but  _ Hansy _ .”

Draco let out a soft laugh. “It’s not your name, so I wouldn’t worry.”

The smile slipped from Potter’s face and he frowned. “It’s becoming my name, Malfoy, just like mine is becoming yours. You know that, right?”

“It is not,” Draco said firmly, as if he could stop it all just by willing hard enough. He refused to have  _ fate  _ or whatever shitty force this was match him with Potter. Draco had to have  _ some  _ say in the situation.

“It is!” Potter said, scowling at Draco and moving closer. “I don’t fucking want it either—”

“Of course, you don’t!” Draco snapped.

Potter’s eyes flashed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Of course, precious little Potter doesn’t want his soulmate to be an ex-Death Eater.”

“Well, obviously I’d prefer it if you hadn’t decided that following Voldemort was a good decision, or branded yourself with that disgusting mark,” Potter’s voice shook with anger. “But seeing as I’ve fucked you and let you fuck me, don’t you think that I  _ may _ be on my way to moving past that?”

The beat in Draco’s head roared to a crescendo and Draco winced. He noticed Potter wincing too.

“You don’t even know me,” Draco scoffed, folding his arms.

Potter dragged his hands through his hair, causing it to stand on end. Draco was forced to remember how Potter had looked on their nights together, his lips slick, eyes burning, and his hair wild. Potter looked pornographic in bed, better than pornographic actually. “I know that, Malfoy, but what I’m trying to ask is that you give me the chance to get to know you! Or at the least we figure out how to fix these fucking marks.” Potter yanked his top up again, and Draco stared deliberately at his bed sheets so he didn’t have to see Potter’s soul mark.

“All I’m asking,” Potter continued, his voice softening, “is that you come to the Ministry and speak to Hermione with me. She’s an Unspeakable, she studies soul marks. She can help us.”

“How?” Draco asked, leaning over and placing his now-empty mug onto his bedside table. There were four empty mugs now.

Potter twisted Draco’s bed sheets in his fingers. “I don’t know, but she said she would help us figure out what’s going on. Why we’re both stuck with these headaches, the itching, the pain.” Potter reached out as he spoke, brushing his fingers against Draco’s calf.

What felt like a small bolt of electricity shot through Draco’s body, and he gasped. “Don’t do that,” he muttered. It hurt nowhere near as much as it had at Millicent’s, but it was still a long way from pleasurable or even normal.

“So will you come?” Potter asked.

Draco couldn’t help but snicker, relaxing as Potter grinned at him. The beat was softer now.

“Come to the Ministry with me?” Potter clarified, staring at Draco. Draco hated those eyes, people shouldn’t have eyes  _ that  _ shade of green. Weren’t glasses meant to make people ugly? Why couldn’t Potter be ugly?

“Fine,” Draco said eventually, still holding Potter’s gaze. “What do you need me to do?”

* * *

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco said, trying to remind himself that this was a  _ telephone box  _ and thus was incapable of judging him. “I’m here with Pansy Parkinson to meet with Unspeakable Granger and Harry Potter.”

Pansy shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and sighed.

They had both called off work for this.

Potter had tried to get Draco to come in the day after he had come around, but Draco hadn’t been able to get off work so soon, so he had agreed to call in sick on Wednesday to come speak to Potter and Granger. He was feeling bloody rough from his soul mark, so it wasn’t a total lie.

Pansy had moved around a couple of her yoga classes to accompany him, and he was grateful for it.

The telephone boxed dinged and Draco cast a scathing look at the badges. He was not wearing a badge that proudly proclaimed  _ Draco Malfoy to meet with Unspeakable Granger _ .

“Please hand your wand in to be inspected at the Atrium,” the voice dinged and then they were moving, the telephone box carrying them deep under London.

Draco ran his fingers up and down Greg’s wand, feeling the unfamiliar grooves. It was heavier than his wand had been, more rigid.

Greg had given it to Draco last night, squeezing his shoulder tightly and telling him that it was all going to be okay.

Draco didn’t know what he would do standing in the phone box if it weren’t for Greg’s wand. He’d already burnt through three cigs in the short walk from the tube station to the Ministry entrance.

He glanced over at Pansy; her face was tight and her make-up perfectly applied.

“Are we getting out of the lift or shall we ride straight back up?” Draco asked, hoping Pansy would say “ride back up.”

Pansy gave him an exasperated look before marching out of the door. He knew she wanted this sorted as much as he did. She didn’t want to be like Theo: stuck, in unrequited love, with Draco’s name on her.

Draco didn’t want that for either of them, but he didn’t know how to fix it. That was the only reason he was willing to be dragged to the Ministry to speak to Granger, Draco couldn’t fix things by himself.

For a brief moment Draco considered just riding back up in the phone box by himself, but then the box gave an aggressive beep and Draco stepped out.

He wasn’t sure if it was his anxiety or if everyone really did stop and stare at him as he stepped into the Atrium.

He realised it was not just paranoia when he felt eyes latching onto his pale, pointed face, his white hair that screamed  _ Malfoy _ . There was no escaping his past, not even if he’d tattooed over the pale pink scar from his mark. There was no escaping his mistakes, not when he wore his father’s face.

“Is that?” he heard the intake of breath, the flurried whispers almost too low to catch aside from one word said over and over again. It carried across the sea of people, distinct and proud, dripping in their poisonous tones, the anger, the hatred palpable.

_ Malfoy _ .

One word hissed. One word spat. One word growled.

“Draco,” Pansy’s voice was soft in his ear, but when she took his hand, he could feel her trembling.

Draco clutched Pansy’s hand like a lifeline as people started to step closer, their words becoming louder and more fueled with hatred as they remembered his crimes.

At Draco’s trial he’d been sentenced to the year of community service and then pushed aside because he’d been a child. The Ministry had bigger fish to fry.

The public had screamed about Draco’s lenient sentence.  _ Monster, _ the paper had branded him. Draco would have been a fool to return to the wizarding world.

And here he was about to stand trial again. People had their wands out as they stepped closer to him and Pansy.

_ Dumbledore. You-Know-Who. Death Eater. Lucius _ .

Draco caught the words in flashes, and he felt like his chest was going to combust.

“We don’t want  _ your  _ sort here!” someone yelled, finally managing to get up the courage to address Draco to his face. And well, that just opened the floodgates to jeers and shouts.

Draco was going to be sick, and it was only Pansy’s killer grip that stopped his knees from buckling.

_ Malfoys bow for no one _ , his father’s voice echoed uselessly in his head. Draco nearly laughed, as if they hadn’t all bowed to the Dark Lord.

“Fuck back off to whatever hole you’ve been hiding in!” an old woman screamed.

This was a mistake. Draco shouldn’t have returned to the wizarding world, even if it was to help cure his soul mark. He would never be welcome here. He would never be wanted here.

Draco was no longer sure if he was breathing. 

_ You’re having a panic attack again _ , a logical part of Draco’s brain supplied, unhelpfully. Draco stared down at his trainers, watching them swim in front of his eyes.

He did deserve this.

“That’s enough! Leave him alone!” A firm voice pierced through Draco’s thoughts and he became aware of an arm slipping around his waist propping him up.. Draco’s soul mark burnt before it subsided to a soft throb and he slumped against a solid body. 

_ It’s Potter _ , that logical part of his brain said again, but Draco didn’t shove him away. He didn’t have the strength.

“Malfoy,” that same firm voice murmured. There was a prim voice shouting also, but Draco was focused on Potter’s voice in his ear.

He just shook his head. He didn’t want to be a Malfoy.

“Malfoy.” Potter had a nice sounding voice, and he almost sounded worried. “Malfoy, I need you to move.”

Draco blinked slowly, trying to get his eyes and body to focus.

“I’ve got you, Malfoy, you great fucking lump.” Potter teased and Draco let out a weak laugh. That laugh triggered something within him as he drew in a shaky breath, finally feeling oxygen flowing through his body. “That’s it, Malfoy,” Potter said as he led Draco through the Atrium.

His head was thudding with that dual beat again.

Draco could still hear people whispering, but as his eyes regained focus, he noticed them stepping back, their eyes no longer on Draco but on Potter. Their faces were no longer twisted with hatred but glowing with awe.

“Fucking Saviour,” Draco managed to choke out. He wanted to push Potter off him as he came to his senses, but he was worried about his knees crumbling.

“You can thank me later then,” Potter muttered, and Draco was reminded just how much he hated Potter.

Just as that thought crossed Draco’s mind, his side gave a sudden throb and what had been the comforting pressure of Potter’s arm burnt. Draco started away from Potter, his eyes catching the look of shock on Potter’s face as Potter rubbed his arm.

“Stop fighting it, you fucking idiot.”

“Millicent?” Draco spluttered, stumbling but managing to keep himself up by himself now.

His eyes snapped into focus as he caught the look of amusement Millicent was giving him. “Unspeakable Bulstrode to you, Draco.” Draco gaped at her, watching as Millicent turned to Granger and smiled at her. Draco nearly fell over again from pure shock, not to mention he had just had a rather awful panic attack. “Let’s get these dickheads down to the Love Room and sort this shit out.”

“Did you know about this?” Draco asked Pansy, who squeezed his hand in a particularly useless and vague answer. “Brilliant,” Draco said, letting himself be led to the Department of Mysteries because it seemed a lot safer than trying to leave the Ministry by himself. One panic attack and mob was enough for one day.

* * *

“Can I smoke in here?” Draco asked once Granger stopped dragging them through the entirety of the Ministry until they had finally arrived at her office. Judging by Granger’s horrified look it was a firm no.

Draco pulled a face and pushed the packet back into his jacket as he took in Granger’s office. It was meticulous with colour-coded files lining the walls, and a desk larger than Draco’s bed. The room was lit in a comforting manner, and a fire crackled in the corner. Photos of Granger and her friends hung on the walls. There was one of Potter, Granger, and Weasley with their arms slung over each other; another with a couple of other Gryffindors; the Weasley family in general; two people who Draco presumed were Granger’s parents; and then one of Granger and Weasley dancing on a beach, the sun setting behind them.

Draco wondered where that photo had been taken. He wondered how often Granger and Weasley followed Potter off on his traipsing around the world.

Granger pointed her wand at the chairs in front of her desk and they multiplied easily, allowing for them all to sit. Draco was pleasantly surprised by how comfortable the chair was.

“So,” Potter said, taking his glasses off and cleaning them on his t-shirt. Potter looked irritatingly fit in his leather jacket.

“So,” Granger echoed, summoning a hefty file and placing it on her lap. “Mil and I have been doing some basic research off what you told us the other day.”

Potter snorted and Draco bit his lip to stop himself smiling. For a moment they shared a  _ look _ before Potter glanced away again, his attention back on Granger who had continued speaking, ignoring Potter’s interruption.

“And of course we will have to do some more tests, which is why I’ve bought you both here,” Granger said, flipping the file open and glancing at her notes.

“So you know what’s wrong with us?” Draco interrupted. He wasn’t in the mood for one of Granger’s know-it-all spiels.

Granger glared at him, her composure slipping slightly. Draco felt bad and glanced away as he remembered everything he’d put Granger through. He should count himself lucky that she was helping at all.

“In a completely unsurprising turn of events, the only problem is that you’re a pair of idiots,” Millicent said, fixing Draco with a firm look. Draco spluttered indignantly, as did Potter, but Millicent hushed them. “What I mean by this is the fact that your rational side is working so hard to resist the changing soul mark that you’re causing your own problems.”

“And what are these problems?” Potter asked, rubbing his hands over his face.

“The consequences of resisting a soul mark, and by extension your soulmate themself, are at best a constant itching or tingling sensation where your soul mark is located as the mark tries to change,” Granger said.

“And at worst?” Draco asked even though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Exhaustion, headaches, and pain whenever you touch your soulmate,” Granger said.

Draco’s head was still thudding, but it wasn’t as intense as it had been earlier, just a soft beat; it was almost comforting in a bizarre way.

“But why?” Draco pressed, “Why is this all happening?”

Granger’s face lit up and she flicked through her folder.

Draco dared to shoot a glance at Potter who was frowning, leaning towards Granger with his chin resting on his palm.

“Do you want the complete version or the abridged?” Granger asked.

“Short,” Potter pleaded just as Draco said, “Complete.”

They glared at each other for a moment, before Potter sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “Go ahead, Hermione.”

“What do you know about soulmates?” Granger asked, getting to her feet and conjuring a whiteboard.

Draco bit his lip, wracking his brain for everything he’d ever been taught. “Your soulmate is your ‘supposed’ other half, not necessarily your one true love, that's the Muggle belief,” Draco said, not missing the way Granger’s mouth twitched. “However, because your soulmate is your ultimate equal, it often leads to love. But, not everyone is fortunate enough to end up with a soulmate.”

“And soul marks?” Granger prompted.

“Calling beacons, a way of finding your way to your soulmate,” Draco said, remembering what Lucius had told him.

His parents had already been together when they had turned nineteen and discovered that fate agreed.

“Like a lighthouse?” Potter murmured.

Granger nodded. “That’s pretty much all correct, even if it is the romanticised version the wizarding media and society have settled on.”

“What do you mean?” Potter questioned.

“Well,” Granger said, conjuring a pen to go with her whiteboard. “Malfoy said that not everyone has a soulmate, which isn’t true. Everyone has a soulmate, just not everyone has a soul mark.”

Draco frowned, thinking of Greg. “How? Aren’t they one and the same?”

Granger turned and began scribbling across the board, the pen flying as she spoke. “To make sense of this we need to start at the beginning, which is the fact that  _ everything  _ in the Universe has magic.”

“No, it doesn’t?” Draco said, unable to stop himself interrupting again. It was a habit he’d never been able to shake, but he kept his chin up even as all the women and Potter glared at him. “Well, it’s not true. Muggles don’t have magic, it’s what makes them Muggles.”

“Typical,” Potter muttered, and Draco wondered if punching Potter in the face would be worth the subsequent pain.

There was no point to Draco sitting there and admitting that yes, he sometimes found that when speaking to Muggles, if they said something particularly stupid, there was a snide voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like his father. However, Draco lived as a Muggle now, and he worked every day to overcome that voice and the years of prejudice he’d been taught and believed. He liked to think he was slowly but surely getting there.

Why would Draco want his soulmate to be someone who thought he was bigoted at every other moment?

“As I was saying,” Granger said, not bothering to turn around, though Draco could see the tension in her shoulders, “everything in the Universe is made up of magical particles, but this is not the same as the magic that separates us from Muggles.” She glanced over her shoulder at Draco, her eyebrows raised. Draco pursed his lips but didn’t say anything.

“The magic that can be found in the particles of every blade of grass, every human being, creature, element and the makeup of our world itself is called  _ natural magic _ , and without it our Universe would not exist.”

Draco glanced over at Pansy, glad to see she was just as shell-shocked as him and was frantically sucking on her rings. 

Potter’s brow was creased as he stared at Granger as if she were speaking a made-up language. “So Muggles  _ are _ magic?” Potter questioned.

“Yes and no,” Granger continued, “Muggles have natural magic in their bodies, it’s part of their makeup and is what allows them to exist, the same as everything in the Universe. However, the magic that  _ we  _ have comes from a mutation of natural magic years ago when humans were still evolving.”

“Evolving?” Pansy questioned. Draco was now feeling fortunate that he spent his time as a teaching assistant reading up on Muggle theories, because without it he would be just as lost as Pansy.

Millicent patted Pansy’s knee. “I’ll get you a book on it.”

“This mutation of the natural magic in the first wizard’s cells acted as a catalyst leading to the body producing its own magic, which of course is our magical core.”

Draco blinked and tried to figure out why — if Granger weren’t just making this up for fun — were they not taught any of this stuff? Draco had just been taught that he had magic and because of that he was superior, done and dusted.

“This magical genotype is passed down family lines, and whilst it is a dominant gene—”

“I’m sorry,” Pansy said, holding her hands up and closing her eyes. She appeared to be doing one of her deep breathing exercises, Draco noted. Though what she had to be stressed about Draco didn’t know. She wasn’t the one the Universe was telling Harry Potter was her soulmate. “What the fuck is a genotype?”

“It’s—” Hermione sighed and massaged her temples before turning to Millicent. “I keep telling Minerva they ought to offer some Muggle science classes or at the least a class in Magical Theory!”

Millicent hummed in agreement. “You’re telling me.” Millicent patted Pansy’s knee again, “I’ll get you the book. This doesn’t really matter, it’s just background information.”

“Sorry, but why is this relevant?” Potter questioned.

Granger glared at him and Potter ducked his head.

“Because Malfoy asked for the complete history.”

“I want to fully understand it,” Draco shrugged at Potter. “If I understand it, it might go away.”

The look Millicent gave him suggested that his hope of it going away was in fact a pipe dream.

“Keep going,” Potter said, with a weak smile, running his hands through his messy hair. “I’m just about understanding.”

Granger gave Potter a kind smile before launching back into her explanation. “ _ Why  _ this is relevant is because when someone has two recessive magical alleles, they become a Squib.”

“ _ What the fuck are alleles?” _ Pansy mouthed to Draco, who shrugged. He was lost now.

“Hermione, might want to roll it back,” Millicent prompted, causing Draco, Pansy, and Potter all to shoot her a thankful look.

“Okay, yes, back to the whole idea of natural magic. Soulmates are linked to natural magic, which means that what wizards are taught to believe is wrong. Everyone does, in fact, have a soulmate.”

“Then how—” Draco started but Granger didn’t give him a chance to properly interrupt her.

“Every creature has a soulmate. This means not just humans but animals too, because soulmates are not about fate and romance, but biology trying to find the most suitable mate.”

“Hermione,” Potter said, raising his hand. Draco understood; he also felt like he was back in Hogwarts. Granger reminded him of McGonagall. “But Malfoy and I can’t, you know,” Potter’s nose wrinkled and his cheeks turned red as he gestured vaguely, “We can’t mate.”

Draco gagged and Pansy sniggered. That was an image he didn’t appreciate. “I have no intention of creating Potter spawn,” Draco sniffed. Potter glared at him, and Draco smirked.

“It’s about finding your mate, you idiots,” Granger sighed, and Draco couldn’t help but snicker at the relief on Potter’s face. “Your mate is your other half; they are someone who  _ should  _ help you flourish and achieve and become your best self.”

Draco wasn’t sure what was more horrifying: the prospect of having a child with Potter or the fact that supposedly Potter was his ultimate equal. Draco dropped his head into his hands; he couldn’t believe he was missing work for this. He desperately needed a cigarette and a bottle of wine. Or maybe something stronger, maybe a few vodka shots and a night in a club with a nameless man. Anyone who wasn’t Potter.

“It’s where the ideal of marrying and having children with your soulmate comes from,” Millicent added, “especially for purebloods.” Draco understood that much; if the person who pushed you beyond your magical limits was another pureblood, it was logical — or at least it should be logical — to assume that the child these soulmates had together would have a greater magical core.

“However, whilst everyone has a soulmate, not everyone has a soul mark, because the soul mark is the physical manifestation of the natural magic in your body crying out for its soulmate. And the human body requires a magical core in order to project this onto the flesh; hence, why Muggles don’t have them. Also why people who have Muggle soulmates won’t have a mark, because their soulmate isn’t powerful enough to link to them. It’s of course rare, but wizards can have Muggle soulmates, although biologically we are drawn to other wizards.” Granger plopped her whiteboard pen down and stared at Draco and Potter, her eyes darting between them.

“And you two prats are currently fighting against this natural magic in your body,” she paused and sighed. “Do you want the abridged version or the complete version of this next bit?”

“Abridged, please, I beg,” Potter groaned.

Granger turned to Draco, and there was almost something hopeful in her eyes. “Abridged works for me, but I would like the complete understanding, perhaps another time?” he asked. Granger gave him a tentative smile before continuing.

“Our magical cores are controlled by our brain that relies on our rational thoughts, emotional desires, and magical subconscious,” Granger drew a triangle on the board with  _ brain  _ scrawled in the centre. “The magical subconscious contains a higher percentage of our natural magic and is normally dormant. However, when it comes to selecting a soulmate, it becomes more prominent and tends to overpower the rational thoughts and emotional desires.” She fixed them both with a stern look. “Except in cases where people’s emotions are strong enough that they can fight against it.”

“In cases like this, your body and magical core begin to view the natural magic as a pathogen, and its desire for a soulmate as a virus. Your magical core is fighting against the natural magic, and this is causing the side effects. The pain you both experience when you touch each other is your magical core reacting to your emotional desires to reject each other. It’s meant to act as a repellent.”

Granger vanished the whiteboard and turned to them all. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Potter muttered and Draco could only agree. What the fuck indeed.

* * *

Trudging bitterly after Granger and Potter, Draco debated the merits of just lighting a cigarette up despite Granger’s warnings.

He thought he deserved one after having everything he’d ever known about soulmates, wizards, and the world itself turned on its head. Why had no one told him that the world was made up of natural magic?

It defeated every argument he’d ever been taught about the superiority of wizards and was slowly melting away the last strands of belief that wizards were, in fact, better than Muggles. Muggles  _ technically  _ had magic in them as well, and Draco wasn’t sure if he needed to lie down.

“I think my father would explode if he learnt all of this,” Draco muttered half to himself, but loud enough that Pansy and Millicent both laughed.

“I feel like  _ I’m  _ about to explode,” Pansy sighed, linking one arm with Draco’s and the other with Millicent’s. Draco suddenly felt like he was back at Hogwarts and a pang shot through his chest for the children they had been. He was a better person now and for that he wouldn’t really ever go back, but in moments like this he did miss it. “Why are we not taught this stuff?”

“In my opinion,” Granger said, turning around from where she’d been chatting with Potter, “the first Unspeakables who became aware of the magic that flowed through the world were most likely purebloods; in fact they  _ were  _ purebloods.” Draco knew that. The Department of Mysteries had always leaned towards hiring purebloods. “And because of this they didn’t want to make public the knowledge that Muggles actually weren’t that different from us. They wanted to encourage the idea of wizard superiority.” Draco didn’t miss the judgemental look she shot his way.

He wanted to go back to the Muggle world. He wanted to go back to his house and his school. The children he worked with never whispered  _ murderer _ . It was fair enough, he knew that, his shoulders slumping. He’d nearly killed Weasley after all. Granger’s own soulmate. He wondered how Potter felt about being told that a Death Eater was his soulmate, because underneath the fact that Potter was a giant prat, he was intrinsically good in a way that Draco would never be. The natural magic was wrong; there was no way he or Potter could ever be equals.

Draco became aware that he’d wrapped his fingers around his forearm at some point, and that Potter was watching him as they waited for Granger to open the door to her lab.

Draco dropped his hand like it had been scalded, even though Potter wouldn’t be able to see the tattooed scar through his jacket. Potter had never commented on the tattoo and Draco wondered what he thought of it.

Following Millicent and Granger through into the lab, Draco took in the room.  With its too-white walls and sterilised surfaces it lacked that lived-in feeling that Granger’s office had. However, the room seemed to hum with magic. It reminded Draco of Severus's personal lab; it was alive with magic.

Granger clapped her hands, and passed Millicent and Pansy lab coats. “Harry, Mal—” Granger trailed off, biting her lip. “Perhaps we should drop the formalities.”

Draco blinked as if Granger had just asked if Draco would like to join her and Weasley in a threesome sometime. She might as well have.

“What?” Draco managed to splutter.

Granger tied her hair up into a messy knot as she spoke. “Well, I feel ridiculous with this whole surname business. We’re all adults here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Draco muttered before realising he’d insulted himself.

Potter smirked at him before saying, “I can drop the formalities if you can,  _ Draco _ .”

Draco could hear the challenge and every part of him itched to meet it, but he squashed that. “We’re not friends,  _ Potter _ .”

“Whatever, Malfoy,” Potter shrugged.

“Draco, you’ve fucked each other, surely you can use each other’s first name?” Millicent sighed. “His name is literally printed onto your side!” she continued as Draco and Potter spluttered. Draco could feel his cheeks burning and he glared at Millicent. He could hear Pansy snickering beside him, the traitorous bitch. Draco should have brought Greg.

“It’s technically not printed on my side,” Draco sniffed, feeling a strong fondness for  _ Hansy Parky _ .

“ _ Yet _ ,” Millicent said. Draco flipped her off. He’d never been particularly close to Millie at school, so it was strange how much he was enjoying her company now. Perhaps not  _ strange  _ but different. They had all changed so much over the years.

“Aren’t we here so that you can stop it from printing on my side?” Draco asked, clinging at the final desperate straw, that maybe Granger and Millicent were going to be able to make this entire thing go away.

Granger gave him a pitying look before instructing him and Potter to sit down.

The rest of the afternoon was long and gruelling as Granger and Millicent ran test after test measuring his and Potter’s magical core levels. Their natural magic levels. Whether their magic was predominantly emotionally or rationally driven. A general health check, their blood pressure, vitamin levels, and measuring the way the beating in both their heads was affected by proximity. Then there were the magical compatibility tests and the pain tests.

They were told to picture their favourite memory of each other, and Draco picked the third time he’d seen Potter in BJ’s, when he’d realised this was going to be more than a one-time thing. The bright lights reflected off Potter’s glasses and his face was illuminated by a wide smile; there had been a dusting of glitter across his cheekbones, and Potter hadn’t seemed to think twice after spotting Draco in the club. They’d made eye contact and Draco had felt every nerve in his body burn with desire and then Potter was taking one step, two step, three, until they were pressed flush against each other, kissing. Draco tried to forget how kissing Potter made his magic sing.

It didn’t hurt when he touched Potter that time; instead, something inside of him had crackled and popped curiously at the feel of Potter’s callous hand on his.

The pain returned when Granger asked for their worst memory of each other and Draco remembered the feeling of being cut open, the slice and slide of that invisible sword and the warm, sticky feeling of his blood coating him. His soul mark scorched and he ripped his hand away from Potter who stood  panting, his green eyes wide and flickering with something that Draco couldn’t put a name on. Something Draco couldn’t understand.

All this time Granger’s and Millicent’s self-writing notebooks floated in the air, mocking Draco as he couldn’t make out what was being written.

Finally, Millicent gave him a flask of Amortentia to smell and Draco dutifully told her that he could smell fresh sheets, gin, and old books. He didn’t hear what Potter smelt, because Potter had been dragged into the other corner by Granger.

By the time Draco was finally allowed to leave, he was exhausted and his head hurt, and he wanted to sleep for a week. However, he couldn’t because he had to meet Granger on Saturday so she could give them the results of the tests.

Brilliant. It was all just brilliant.

* * *

Draco ran his finger through the froth of his Strongbow Dark Fruits and sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Nothing,” Draco grumbled. Greg nodded and took another sip of his drink, returning to slowly working his way through his business book.

Draco sucked the froth off his finger, and glanced back at Greg, who was still reading. Draco sighed again, but louder this time.

Greg folded down his page and looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Draco repeated, before sniffing as he looked at his watch. “I just want Granger and Potter to hurry up.”

They had agreed to meet at Draco’s local Wetherspoons to talk about it all, because Draco had point-blank refused to enter the Ministry again. As much as he enjoyed being attacked by an angry mob, he was aware it was better for his general health if the situation could be avoided.

“You are aware we’re early?” Greg said, raising his eyebrows.

Draco scowled and glared down at his own textbook. He was aware that they had come early for a drink so Draco could steal his nerves, but he was still pissed off. It was now two minutes past one and Granger and Potter weren’t here.

The minutes dragged by as Draco slowly sipped his pint and tried to read his textbook. After what felt like hours but was in fact only eight minutes and forty-eight seconds, Granger and Potter finally traipsed through the door. However, this time they weren’t alone.

“Greg,” Draco said softly, “why does the world hate me?”

Greg glanced over his shoulder before turning back and giving Draco a pitying look. “I don’t know, Draco, but it clearly does.”

“Draco, Goyle,” Granger nodded, sitting down beside Greg and pulling out a red folder. She was dressed in a grey wool jumper and a pair of jeans, a world away from the imposing figure she’d cut as an Unspeakable during the week.

“Granger,” Greg nodded back, sliding his book into his bag and packing Draco’s up as well. Greg’s face twitched before he managed to get out a civil, “Potter, Weasley.”

“Goyle,” Potter said, giving a two-fingered wave before sliding down into the seat beside Draco. “Hey, Malfoy.” Potter’s leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders. Years of travelling around the world had softened Potter’s body; he was no longer the scrawny prat he’d been at Hogwarts, but he certainly hadn’t developed abs, just a soft stomach to match his easy smile. He was just Potter, and Draco liked that.

Draco didn’t actually like that, he just objectively thought Potter was good looking. That was all.

Draco blinked at Potter a couple of times before turning to stare at Weasley, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else at best, and dead at worst. Draco for the first time could sympathise with Weasley, and it was an unnerving moment.

“Ron, sit down,” Granger said, gesturing for him to pull up a seat.

Weasley gave Granger a look that Draco couldn’t interpret.

“Why are you even here, Weasley?” Draco asked, unable to help himself.

“Why are you even here?” Weasley shot back before realising what an awful comeback it was. Draco raised his eyebrows and sighed.

“Ron, just sit down,” Potter laughed. “Malfoy  _ has  _ to be here.”

Weasley glowered at Draco before dragging a chair from the next door table and slumping down into it, his arms crossed. Draco was good at figuring out what would be the most irritating thing to do at any given moment, and he decided the most annoying thing he could do now was smile at Weasley.

Weasley’s face turned a shade of red that told Draco his suspicions were correct.

“Shall we get on with it then?” Granger asked.

“Sounds good,” Potter said, stretching out in his chair.

Potter had this irritatingly easy grace, with his long legs, messy hair, and stubble. Draco quickly turned away before he was caught admiring Potter or became caught up in remembering how that stubble felt scraping across his body.

“Harry, will you cast  _ Muffliato _ ?” Granger asked, lowering her voice. “I would but I don’t want to get my wand out.”

Potter nodded, waving his hand in a lazy manner. Draco felt a layer of magic settle on the table but didn’t notice anything different.

Potter’s grasp of wandless magic drove him crazy.

“Okay, so what Millie and I managed to establish from the tests is at the current moment there is no reversing your soul marks, which means the best thing that either of you can do is embrace them.”

Draco took a sip of his pint and debated drowning himself in it. “I thought the problem is that our subconscious is rejecting it, rejecting each other.”

Granger glanced up from her notes and nodded. “That’s true, which means the only solution we’ve been able to come up with that will benefit you both long term, is that you have to learn to like each other.”

Draco took another sip of his pint, just as Weasley let out a bark of laughter, causing Draco to nearly choke.

He managed to calm himself down but glowered at Weasley who was still snickering.

“Really, Ron?” Potter sighed, but there was half a smile playing at Potter’s lips. Potter smiled so easily at Granger and Weasley.

“Sorry, it’s just are you aware of what you’re saying, Herm?” Weasley asked, raising his eyebrows. “You’re asking Harry to like Malfoy.”

“You’re asking Draco to like Potter too,” Greg chipped in, and Draco was grateful he’d brought him. Greg calmed him down, whereas Pansy was pure fire.

Pansy hadn’t been able to get out of her yoga classes today, so Greg had volunteered to come with Draco. Draco was glad; he wouldn’t have been able to be here with Potter and his friends alone.

“Yes,” Granger continued, “the only way to stop the pain is to like each other, the only way to stop the exhaustion of your body constantly fighting itself is to like each other, and the only way to stop the headaches is to like each other.”

“What are the headaches?” Draco questioned, massaging his temples. They always became stronger in Potter’s presence.

Potter gave Draco a weak smile. “That would be my heartbeat.”

Draco blinked at Potter. “I’m sorry?”

“Hermione said it’s our bodies trying to become attuned to one another, and as we’re both fighting it, the sound is way louder than it should be,” Potter said, glancing at Granger for confirmation.

Granger nodded. “Normally, it’s just a comfort that is almost unnoticeable, but as with everything with the pair of you, yours is more dramatic.”

Greg snorted, and Draco glared at him. Draco wasn’t  _ that  _ dramatic.

“Also, what I wanted to ask is, do you do much magic, Draco?” Granger continued. Draco could feel his cheeks heating up and he scowled at the table. 

“I do plenty,” Draco sniffed, but from the way Granger cocked her head he got the feeling she was seeing through his lie easily.

“Just because, looking at your magical core level, your magic seems out of practice. Especially compared to Harry’s levels that are off the charts. You currently don’t make sense as equals, making the situation even more bizarre.”

Draco tapped his fingers against his pint glass and refused to look up. He was sure Weasley would look like Christmas had come early, and Potter… well… Draco didn’t want to see whatever pathetic pity Potter was directing his way.

Or perhaps Potter was angry. Perhaps he was fuming that his soulmate was someone so much weaker than him.

Draco felt his lips curling into a sneer as he glanced back up at Granger. “So for all your talk about equals, we’re not?” Draco would never be precious Potter’s equal.

Granger’s face was blank. “Everything else matched up, Draco, it was just your magical core seemed out of practice. As I said soulmates are chosen by the natural magic in our bodies, and sometimes it works in ways we can’t understand yet. Anyway, that isn’t relevant. The fact is you are currently soulmates and resisting it is doing you both far more harm than good.”

“And the only way to fix that is to grow to like each other?” Draco sneered.

“Yes,” Granger said, closing her folder. “I’m not saying you have to love each other, but you have to like each other.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Potter asked. He was scratching at a shiny, sticky mark on the table.

“Well, if you two can fuck, I’m sure you can become friends.”

Draco’s cheeks went red again and he took a deliberate sip of his pint. Potter was still staring at the table, but Weasley spluttered in outrage. Draco offered Weasley another smile, just to make himself feel a bit better.

“What I’m proposing,” Granger continued, ignoring the rest of them, “is that you go on dates?”

“Dates?” Potter whimpered. He clearly hadn’t been clued in to  _ that _ detail.

“Yes,” Granger said, “Dates. They don’t have to be romantic, they can just be friendly. I just want to get you both to a point where you’re happy to accept each other.”

“When will that be?” Potter asked weakly.

“When your soul marks have settled, and you’re no longer suffering from exhaustion, headaches, and physical pain from touching each other,” Granger said simply.

Draco was once again reminded of Professor McGonagall when Granger looked at him.

“I’m thinking dinner would be a good start. Tomorrow, the two of you, at a Muggle restaurant so no one can see you. I’m presuming I’m right in thinking that neither of you want this going public?”

Draco and Potter nodded dutifully.

“Good,” Granger said. “I’ll organise everything for this one, but I would like it if the two of you could begin to organise your own dates from then on.”

Draco and Potter nodded again. Draco didn’t have the strength to protest, and he knew it would do no good. He’d a feeling Granger wasn’t backing down on this.

Draco gave Granger a list of his dietary preferences before scrawling down his number on a napkin and pushing it towards Potter. Potter took it, his tanned cheeks red as he refused to meet Draco’s eye.

Thankfully, when that was done Granger stood to leave with Potter and Weasley following suit. However, just to rub it in that the world truly did hate Draco, before she left Granger paused and added, “And I just want to make it clear now, that under no circumstances should the two of you have sex again before your soul marks are settled. It won’t do any good for anyone.” And with that she turned and walked out of Spoons, Weasley complaining behind her.

Potter had waited a moment before mumbling goodbye to Draco and hurrying after his friends.

Draco turned back to Greg who gave him a pitying smile. “Another pint?”

Draco nodded. He would love another pint right now.

* * *

When the doorbell rang the next evening Draco wanted nothing more than to run back upstairs to his room and hide under his bed. He wouldn’t have considered it cowardly but logical. He wasn’t running away, he was merely… Okay, he would have been running away, but Malfoys were good at running away. It was in his blood.

“I can’t do this,” Draco murmured, gripping the edge of the table tightly as the doorbell rang again.

Humeara looked up from where she was cooking, her dark hair wound into an elaborate braid. “Of course you can.”

“I can’t,” Draco said, shaking his head.

“Can’t do what?” Andy, Humeara’s boyfriend, asked. Andy was currently peeling potatoes at the counter, his jeans hanging far too low around his hips for Draco’s own interest. Draco refused to pick up  _ that  _ Muggle trend.

“Go on a date with the boy he’s been sleeping with,” Humeara laughed. The sound wash was soft and warm, and for just a moment Draco felt silly that he was standing here stressing so much about his supper with Potter.

Pansy had already left for work at the bar but had offered him the sound advice that: “If you can suck his cock, you can not murder him over Italian food.”

Pansy should never go into inspirational speaking.

Andy nodded, turning back to the potatoes. Draco could tell that Andy wasn’t entirely comfortable with Draco’s sexuality from the way that his face tightened every time it was brought up, and his laugh always fell flat whenever they joked about it all.

However, Andy was also far too in love with Humeara to ever do or say anything to Draco, so Draco supposed it could be worse.

The doorbell rang for the third time and Draco met Humeara’s eyes. Humeara passed Andy the spoon and came over to take Draco’s face in her warm hands. Her lips were a beautiful shade of red, and all Draco wanted to do was curl up in her lap.

“Just have fun, don’t stress,” Humeara said, her thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones. “If it doesn’t work out, then you never have to see him again.”

Draco nodded, because even though that wasn’t true — Draco couldn’t escape Potter — he appreciated Humeara’s advice. The doorbell rang again and an irritated shout of  _ Malfoy _ echoed through the house.

Draco could feel it already, Potter’s heartbeat, vibrating in his body. He wondered if the intense beat meant that Potter was just as nervous as he was.

Humeara stepped back and raised her eyebrows, clearly picking up on Potter’s irritated tone. Draco had to go now before she started asking more questions about why Draco was even going on this date if neither of them wanted to.

Awkwardly waving goodbye to Humeara and Andy, Draco walked to the door, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. He wasn’t afraid. Malfoys were never afraid.

Draco almost laughed at his own joke as he opened the door. Who was he kidding? Malfoys were always afraid.

“Took your time,” Potter grumbled.  The first thing Draco noticed was he’d shaved. Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about that; Potter looked younger, more human. The stubble, when paired with Potter’s intense gaze, made Potter look a lot more like the man who had killed the greatest dark wizard of all time.

Potter was wearing the leather jacket again, a plain white top, and baggy jeans. Draco wrinkled his nose and smoothed down his shirt. He wasn’t sure if he was overdressed or Potter was underdressed.

“Sorry,” Draco replied, and from the way Potter’s mouth twitched it was quite clear that Potter had caught on that Draco wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

“Have fun, Draco!” Humeara’s voice shocked Draco into realising he and Potter had been stood there staring at each other. “You too…”

“Harry,” Potter said, giving Humeara a tight-lipped smile and an awkward wave. “I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Humeara said, giving him a much more friendly wave. Draco turned to go when his blood froze.

“Oooh, Harry!” Jessica said, bounding down the stairs, her hair in two messy space-buns atop her head. “I can’t believe you nearly didn’t let me meet your man, Draco!” Jessica laughed, pausing at the bottom of the stairs and staring straight at Potter, who shifted under her gaze. “He’s hotter than you said he was,” Jessica said, winking at Draco before turning back to Potter. “Take good care of our little Drakey, and make sure you’re not out  _ all _ night.” She leered.

“Right,” Draco said, pushing Potter out of the door and back down the steps. “Very nice, see you all later.” He shut the door behind him just in time to hear Jessica and Humeara laughing. All girls were evil, Draco was convinced of it.

“Drakey?” Potter asked, his mouth quirking into a smile as they set off down the street.

Draco glared at him. “Don’t you dare, Hazza.”

Potter wrinkled his nose, and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Fair play.”

Draco let out a huff of laughter, and they quickly fell into silence. The restaurant was only a ten minute walk from Draco’s place, and Draco wasn’t sure  _ why  _ Potter had had to pick him up, but apparently Granger had insisted upon it.

They kept walking through the dimly lit streets and Draco tugged his scarf tighter around his neck; despite his jacket, the January air was getting to him.

“Cast a Warming Charm?” Potter asked, fixing Draco with a strange look.

“I’m fine,” Draco said firmly, wrapping his arms around his body. He wasn’t going to admit to Potter that he couldn’t do magic now, was he, as that would lend to the awkward conversation of Potter having Draco’s wand.

Draco wasn’t sure how that conversation would go. It would either end up with Potter acting like the apologetic Saviour he was and returning Draco’s wand with gushing apologies, or it would involve Potter refusing to return Draco’s wand. Either outcome was embarrassing and avoidable if Draco just kept his secret to himself.

He didn’t trust what suspicions Granger had and what she’d said to Potter already, and Draco felt no need to stir the pot.

His irritation at Potter both increased and depleted as a layer of warmth set over his body, seeping into his bones and wrapping around him like a blanket.

“I said I was fine,” Draco muttered, straightening his posture now that he was no longer resisting the urge to shiver.

Potter just glanced over at him and shrugged. “I know, but I was cold too.”

“Oh,” Draco said, cursing how stupid he sounded. “Well, thank you, then I guess.”

Potter laughed, and Draco glanced over at him, biting his lip to stop himself smiling as Potter teased: “Don’t strain yourself.”

“I wasn’t cold!” Draco said, but this time there wasn’t any heat to his words and Potter grinned at him.

“Sure you weren’t, your teeth were just chattering so you didn’t have to talk to me.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Potter.”

Potter grinned at Draco again, and for a moment Draco let himself believe that this was going to be okay. There had to be something between Potter and him that their bodies’ natural magic was picking up so they could be on a date together.

However, as Draco thought that, Potter’s shoulder brushed his and a stinging pain flared up his side. Potter’s face settled into a mullish expression and they continued the walk to the restaurant in silence.

Draco had been right all along, he should  _ not  _ have agreed to this. 

* * *

Staring at the menu, Draco wondered if it was appropriate to order an entire bottle of wine for himself to make the evening more tolerable.

“Do you have a preference on the wine?” Draco asked, his eyes skimming over the menu. “I would suggest the house white, it seems nice enough and this is a genuine Italian place so it will probably taste perfectly adequate.”

Potter’s nose wrinkled and he put his menu down. “I was just going to get a beer?”

“This is a date,” Draco huffed. There was no way he could get through this meal on a couple of pints. “Who orders a beer on a date?”

“This is a platonic dinner so that we can get to know each other better, and I cannot want to murder you at all times,” Potter said, his jaw clenching. It was an unattractive look and this brought Draco some glee, even if it was half-hearted.

“I personally find I want to murder you less with a bottle of wine in me,” Draco said, matching Potter’s fake smile.

“Fine, we’ll get the white then,” Potter grumbled, before turning back to his menu.

“Is this how you charm all the boys?” Draco drawled.

Potter looked up at him, his gaze piercing as if he couldn’t quite decide if Draco was taking the piss or not. “And the girls too.”

“The girls too?” Draco said, closing his menu to signal he was ready to order. “God, I am lucky to be being courted by such a Lothario,” he deadpanned.

Potter rolled his eyes. “Merlin, you’re a prat.”

Draco smiled to himself. This whole thing was so strange. They seemed to be walking a fine line between biting each other’s heads off every other word or actually getting on.

It was a shame that Granger hadn’t thought the best way for them to overcome the whole issue wasn’t to fuck it out of their systems.

Logically Draco knew that wasn’t going to work as they could barely stand to touch each other without pain, but it was still a more pleasant idea than having to endure these dates.

They’d been good in bed, half-drunk, sweaty bodies, nothing more to say to each other than whispered expletives and encouraging words. Draco had never let himself think about it too much, not with Potter disappearing every few weeks, but he’d enjoyed their time together.

This, however, felt like one long morning after where Potter was building up the strength to kick Draco out.

Draco paused, allowing the silence to wash over him after they had ordered their wine and food. What was going to happen? He knew Potter never stayed in England for long, so how on earth were they ever meant to sort anything out?

“When are you next leaving then?” Draco asked, the words falling from his mouth before he could stop them. He instantly wanted to take them back, shove them back into his mouth and go back to sitting in the vaguely awkward silence of the last few minutes, but it was too late now.  _ Fuck _ , Draco thought as he took a sip of his wine.

“What?” Potter said, glancing up from where he’d been playing with the tablecloth.

“I said,” Draco began, he had to commit now, “when are you next leaving then?”

“Leaving?” Potter asked slowly, confirming Draco’s suspicions that Potter was in fact missing a brain cell or three.

“Yes,” Draco sniffed, “Leaving, gallivanting around the world, saving rare species of magical creatures, working with poor people, drinking until you can’t see straight. Whatever it is you do on your travels.”

“Oh,” Potter said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Draco took another sip of his wine. “You’re not?”

“Nope,” Potter said. “Well, I was obviously still meant to be in New Zealand,” he gave Draco a wry smile, “and I was working out there with Luna Lovegood.” Potter paused as if remembering that Luna Lovegood had spent part of the war locked up in Draco’s dungeons.

“So, what  _ fantasy creatures _ were you dealing with then?” Draco said, managing a smile to try and diffuse the tension.

“Don’t mock her,” Potter said firmly.

Draco scowled. “I wasn’t mocking her!”

“You just called them  _ fantasy creatures _ ,” Potter said, crossing his arms.

“I was joking!” Draco huffed, mimicking Potter’s body posture. “And you can’t tell me you  _ actually _ believe half the shit she sprouts.”

Potter’s face twitched in a way that suggested he knew Draco had a point. Lovegood and her father always had spouted shit. “We were working with a new species of mini-dragon that’s been discovered recently, Charlie Weasley was out there too.”

“Mini-dragon?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, you know, dragons but small,” Potter said, gesturing with his hands.

Draco smirked. “I gathered that from the name  _ mini _ -dragon.”

“Ha ha,” Potter remarked sarcastically.

“I always liked dragons as a child,” Draco said, as he poured himself another glass of wine. He topped Potter’s glass up as well. “It’s my name after all.”

“As a child?” Draco raised his eyebrows and Potter went on. “It’s just I’m not blind, you know, like I noticed the tattoo while we…”

Draco found Potter’s awkwardness amusing in comparison to his filthy mouth in bed.

“Fucked?” Draco said innocently, taking a sip of his wine as Potter’s face went red.

Potter nodded, taking a large gulp of his own wine. “Yeah, that.”

Draco placed his glass back down, and slowly rolled up his shirt sleeve until the entire tattoo was revealed. Potter leaned closer, his brow furrowed and his teeth biting his bottom lip.

“I wanted control over at least one mark on my body,” Draco said, as Potter’s fingers ghosted the tattoo, not quite touching it. Just a whisper away. He could feel the electricity of Potter, and in that moment all he wanted was Potter’s touch.

“So under there is the…”

Draco nodded. He didn’t want to talk about the Dark Mark. He didn’t want to be forced to remember the pain as the Dark Lord had seared it onto his flesh. Draco had never been so sure he would die as he had been in that moment.

“Why a Muggle tattoo?” Potter asked, leaning back but still inspecting it.

Draco traced his fingers along the compass that he’d tattooed over the scar of the skull and the dragon that had replaced the snake. He’d done it after his community service had ended, after his soul mark of  _ Pansy Parkinson _ had appeared. It had been all for him. This tattoo had been for  _ him _ , to represent that he still had some choice and some free will in this world.

He wasn’t so sure about that now with his changing soul mark, but the tattoo still brought him comfort.

“I thought it was fitting,” Draco shrugged, rolling his sleeve back down. He didn’t want to explain to Potter that he could hardly have a moving tattoo and live in the Muggle world. That was a different story, perhaps for another date…

“I get what you mean, you know,” Potter said, fiddling with the tablecloth. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo for that reason. To have some control over the marks on my body.”

“What…” Draco started before trailing off as Potter pushed his fringe up. Draco grimaced; he wasn’t sure how that  _ scar  _ had managed to slip his mind. “You should get one, it’s pretty liberating.”

“Yeah,” Potter said, “maybe I will.” And then Potter smiled, and Draco realised that maybe Granger hadn’t been so delusional to think this could work. She always had been bright.

Draco tugged his jacket tighter around himself as they walked out of the restaurant. They had managed to polish off three bottles of wine in their desperation to get through the evening, both of them drinking large amounts every time silence fell or one of them had said something they shouldn’t have.

However, despite having drunk at least a bottle and a half by himself, Draco could still feel the January cold seeping into his skin. He tilted his head back and breathed out, watching as his white breath floated up under the harsh London street lights.

“I had fun, you know,” Potter said, pulling Draco out of his own thoughts.

Draco glanced over and smirked. “You sound surprised.”

“Are you telling me that you expected to enjoy yourself?” Potter countered, raising his eyebrows and stumbling.

Draco shot his arm out on impulse, catching Potter.

Potter grinned up at him, wrapping an arm around Draco’s waist. Draco was hyperaware of Potter touching him, but it didn’t hurt. It was like a low voltage of electricity flowing through his body, filling him with adrenaline. In that moment all he wanted was more.

“Can’t say I was expecting to enjoy myself,” Draco laughed, draping his arm over Potter’s shoulder, so their sides were pressed flush together. He felt like every part of his body was burning. It wasn’t with lust, just a craving for something  _ more _ .

“Doesn’t hurt, does it,” Potter said, tilting his head up slightly. Draco only had an inch on Potter now, probably less if he were being honest. Draco shook his head. “Don’t really get it,” Potter sighed, pulling a face. “I don’t really get  _ any  _ of this soulmate crap if I’m being honest.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I grew up as a Muggle.” Potter shot Draco a hard look and Draco nearly laughed. With their history he understood  _ why _ Potter was constantly on edge about Draco being discriminatory about Muggles, but Draco lived as a Muggle now. He’d be insulting himself. “And Muggles don’t have to deal with this shit — well actually I guess they  _ technically _ do with Hermione’s ‘everyone has a soulmate’ stuff, but they don’t have these stupid marks.”

“Stupid marks indeed,” Draco agreed.

Potter nodded. “And I don’t like being told who I’m meant to like.”

“Neither,” Draco said, and Potter grinned.

“Do you like me, Malfoy?”

Draco frowned, chewing on his lip as they rounded the corner to Draco’s house. “I don’t know. I don’t want to,” he said honestly, stepping away from Potter as his mark shocked him. As if punishing him for not wanting to fall at the Universe’s feet and take Potter into his arms. Draco didn’t want that, he didn’t want to think that anything he felt for Potter was coercion by the soul marks or whatever natural magic resided in his body.

He didn’t like the idea of losing his agency again. He  _ wanted  _ to choose it all.

Pansy had been a shit soulmate, but at least he’d known he could never be with her. Potter... there was a part of him that  _ did  _ want Potter, always would want Potter. He didn’t know how much of that was him anymore, and how much of it was the mark.

“But?” Potter prompted.

“But I could do,” Draco said finally, squinting up at the sky. The only thing he missed from the Manor — aside from his mother — was the stars. “I think I could do.”

He was going to regret having drunk so much tomorrow when he was stuck teaching young children and reliving this conversation in his memory.

Potter shoved his hands into his pockets, a crooked grin on his face. “Think I could grow to like you, too.”

“Potter,” Draco said, climbing a couple of steps up to his house. “You can barely tolerate me without indulging in a bottle and a half of wine. How can you like me?”

Potter stepped closer to him, still smiling. “I mean I could say the same for you,  _ but  _ I think I could. Without all this soul mark crap I still could have grown to like you.”

“You kicked me out every night,” Draco laughed even though he’d never found it funny. “You didn’t like me, you thought I was a good lay.”

“No, that wasn’t it,” Potter said before trailing off. Perhaps there hadn’t been a reason deeper than he hadn’t wanted Draco to stay.

Draco understood; if he’d stayed, it would have made it real.

Potter bit his lip and sighed. “The next time we do this we should do it sober, how does that sound?”

“Do what?” Draco said to be deliberately contrary.

“Go on a date,” Potter laughed, and there it was again: that free, easy smile. Draco didn’t understand how Potter just seemed to hand out his smiles so easily. Then again, he wasn’t really complaining; he did like being on the receiving end.

“I thought it was just a ‘platonic dinner’,” Draco countered, trying not to notice how Potter’s grin widened.

“Prat,” Potter said, shaking his head before stepping closer, so that he was only a step below Draco. Draco glanced down at Potter’s uptilted face; he was so handsome in the half-lit street lights. “So, another date? A sober one this time?”

Draco pretended to think about it before sighing. “Fine.” He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to say no to Potter.

“Fine,” Potter echoed before laughing. “Do I get a kiss goodbye?”

“Didn’t Granger say no to that?”

“Hermione said no shagging, and I don’t shag on the first date,” Potter said.

“We literally fucked the first time we saw each other again?” Draco said, trying not to notice how close Potter was and how much he wanted to kiss him. He knew that was entirely him. It wasn’t his soul mark; it was Draco wanting Potter as he always did.

“Malfoy?” Potter questioned, raising an eyebrow. He looked almost unsure.

Draco swallowed and nodded, letting Potter lean in and kiss him. It was soft and gentle in a way that they’d never kissed before. It was desperate as it always was with them, but there wasn’t that frantic messiness that Draco was used to.

As Potter’s hand curled in Draco’s shirt, Draco felt his magic explode. He’d become so used to not noticing his magic that it felt infinite in that moment, bursting within him and pushing outwards. He felt alive. There was no pain, only ecstasy. 

Potter’s lips were chapped and he tasted like the mint ice cream he’d had for pudding.

Draco pulled up for air, and stepped back, leaving Potter chasing his kiss. Biting his lip to stop himself smiling, Draco said, “Text me our next plans, Potter,” as he walked up the rest of the steps and unlocked the door. He liked being the one walking away for a change. It gave him a sense of control.

He glanced back over his shoulder to see Potter smiling at him; it looked almost fond. Potter nodded and offered Draco that two-fingered salute that Draco knew so well, but for the first time it didn’t seem mocking. “I’ll see you soon, Malfoy.”

Draco nodded back and stepped inside the door, shutting it behind him and not letting himself look back again. He paused and leaned against the door, still smiling. There definitely was a reason Granger had been dubbed the brightest witch of their age after all.

* * *

“I’m not sure you can properly pull those shoes off,” Potter said, lounging back on the hard wooden chair, his legs spread wide in front of him.

Draco glanced down at the awful grubby shoes he had been forced to wear. Off-white, with thick red and blue stripes across them, and to add insult to injury they were glowing under the UV lights of the bowling alley.

He glanced back up at Potter and flipped him off. “I look better in them than you do.”

“Whatever,” Potter laughed.

He was effortless, sitting there in his baggy jeans, with his stupid leather jacket, his thick ugly specs, and his messy hair. Draco wanted to hate him, but instead all he could remember was the singing of his magic when Potter kissed him. It had always been magnetic between them, but that had been something else.

In that moment kissing Potter had felt like coming home.

Draco cleared his throat and turned to inspect the bright, garish balls. Jess and Humeara had taken him bowling a few times, and Draco couldn’t say he was particularly good at it. He hoped Potter was worse.

However, Potter had been the one to suggest  _ bowling _ as a date after all, so Potter was probably a pro at it. He had probably popped out of the womb as a bowling pro, like he had with Quidditch and everything Potter put his mind to.

Draco had accepted this was his own fault for telling Potter they couldn’t get on unless they were smashed. One day he was going to learn to stop challenging Potter. Unfortunately, he had a bad feeling that day wasn’t going to be any day soon.

It had been a few days since their first ‘date’ and Draco was trying not to be  _ too  _ flattered that Potter had asked for another one so quickly. He tried to remind himself that Potter probably just wanted the soul marks sorted.

“Go on then, Malfoy,” Potter said, managing to sprawl out further in the chair. He was going to fall off if he wasn’t careful. “You going to get a strike on your first go?”

Draco flipped him off and picked up a ball marked eight that was an awful colour of pink. He couldn’t remember what weight Jess had helped him decide on last time. He glanced at the other numbers before putting the eight down and picking up a ten. It seemed a better suited weight.

“I can’t believe you’ve brought me here,” Draco sighed, sliding his fingers into the ball holes and pulling a face. “It’s disgusting when you think about how many people have touched this ball.”

“How many people have touched your balls?” Potter said. Draco glared at him, and Potter’s innocent expression cracked as he started sniggering.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Are you five?”

“I don’t think five-year-olds walk around making jokes about balls,” Potter shrugged, still grinning.

“You’d be surprised,” Draco smirked, lining himself up. He glanced over his shoulder at Potter, who was watching him with amusement. “Five-year-olds tell some pretty spectacular balls jokes, although they do tend to prefer penis jokes.”

Potter laughed. “And why are you the expert on young kids making dick jokes?”

Draco swallowed and threw the bowling ball, watching as it rolled slowly and pathetically down the centre of the lane before veering off to the side and connecting with a measly two pins.

He knew there was nothing stopping him from telling Potter. This was Potter after all, he wouldn’t mock Draco for it. However, it meant accepting that Potter wasn’t walking out of Draco’s life. It meant knocking down one of the neat walls Draco had build around his new life and letting someone like Potter in.

They had to like each other, to accept each other, to treat each other as equals. And there was no way that could truly happen until they both lowered their defences.

A low pulse vibrated in Draco’s body, as if his soul mark were purposely reminding him of his inescapable tie to Potter. He hadn’t asked for it. He didn’t want it. However, he was stuck with it.

And he supposed it wasn’t so bad at the end of the day. Potter was Potter, and Draco was Draco. It was who they were and it was how things were.

“I work with them,” Draco said finally.

Potter leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “You work with them?”

“Yes,” Draco said, tilting his chin upwards as he walked back towards Potter. “I work as a teaching assistant in the local primary school. I’ve been working there for a year and a half, and I’m training to become a full-time teacher.” Draco swallowed, and shifted his weight.

Potter was staring at him, his jaw slack and his brows furrowed. “You’re a…”

“If you’re going to laugh, then we can stop whatever this is right now,” Draco said, clenching his fists. He could feel the anger rising in him, threatening to overspill. He shouldn’t have told Potter. He was an idiot. “I will suffer headaches, exhaustion, and pain,” he just about managed to keep his voice even as he met Potter’s eyes, “but I will not suffer you laughing at me for something I’m proud of. For the fact I have worked to become a better person.”

Potter’s mouth was still open and he looked to be struggling to find words. Draco picked up the same dull blue ball again and threw it, his throw nearly as awful the second time. He sat down in the seat beside Potter and stared deliberately at the scoreboard.

“I wasn’t laughing,” Potter said finally. “I just… why?”

“Why what?” Draco said, still staring at the board.

This was why he couldn’t get comfortable with Potter’s presence; there was no way this could ever work long term. All these  _ dates  _ were going to be useful for was removing the negative side effects of their changing marks. Once everything was settled, they could go back to the way things had been… before Draco had fallen into Potter’s bed that first time…

“Why all the Muggle stuff? You know, the Muggle job, and the Muggle house, and the clothes and the whole…” Potter trailed off. “Is it to try to make up for everything in the war?”

Draco chewed his lip for a moment before speaking. “You saw those people in the Ministry, right?”

Potter didn’t say anything, but Draco continued anyway.

“I wasn’t welcome in the wizarding world, so I made my own life. It’s what the compass stands for on my tattoo, me making my own choices.”

“Will you ever go back?” Potter asked. “To the wizarding world.”

_ I can’t, you have my fucking wand _ , Draco wanted to yell, but he wasn’t ready to get into that yet.

“Why do you travel so much?” Draco countered, finally glancing over at Potter. Potter flushed and looked away. “You can’t just expect me to open my heart to you, Potter, not without telling me things, too.”

Potter’s face twitched and he dragged his hands through his hair before getting to his feet. “Can we go back to bowling and ball jokes?”

Draco laughed and glanced up at Potter. “If you think you can handle the balls.”

Relief washed over Potter’s face before he leered back at Draco. “Oh you know how well I can handle balls, Malfoy,” he said, turning to inspect the bowling balls.

Draco leant back in his chair and laughed. “I can’t remember, perhaps you’ll have to remind me one day.”

Potter flushed and nearly dropped the ball he was holding on his toes. “I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, his voice low and his eyes fierce.

“I’m counting on it,” Draco teased, trying not to let it show how much the hungry look in Potter’s face affected him. Granger had said  _ no shagging _ , and Draco was determined not to let it happen.

Potter’s mouth quirked up into a grin before he turned around and bowled with far too much eagerness and aggression. The ball bounced back and forth off the railing before slamming into the corner and knocking over a spectacular one pin.

“You’re awful,” Draco said.

“Oh, you’re going down,” Potter said, pretending to stretch, “I’m just warming up.”

Draco grinned. “Bring it on.”

It turned out neither of them in fact  _ brought it,  _ because there was nothing for either of them to bring.

Draco wasn’t sure if what they were doing could even be considered bowling. They were arguing and doing their best to distract each other as they always had when it came to Quidditch, but at least they’d both been good at Quidditch.

Draco wouldn’t have been surprised if the bowling alley managers were laughing at them. Draco was pretty sure the group of twelve-year-old boys beside them  _ were _ laughing at them.

Potter had once managed to get the ball into the gutter despite the sides being up. It had to be a first.

“Remember the aim is to  _ hit  _ the pins,” Potter called with far too much confidence for someone who was losing.

Draco flipped Potter off, not bothering to look back as he threw the ball and watched it quite pathetically hit four pins.

“Want some help?” Potter asked, leaning back against the ball dispenser.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Draco smirked, dodging around Potter to get his next ball.

Potter grinned as Draco’s next ball managed to go straight through the gap and not hit a single pin.

Draco glared at him. “Not a word.”

Potter mimed zipping his mouth, and picked up a ball. He weighed it in his hands before turning to Draco. “If I can get a strike, what will you give me?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to get a strike, so why are we having this conversation?”

“Just curious. I like raising the stakes,” Potter shrugged.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You can have another date.”

“I get one of those anyway,” Potter said, fidgeting. “Can I have a kiss?”

Draco swallowed. Potter was asking for a  _ sober _ kiss.

“Just a peck,” Potter said quickly, “and of course, only if you want, but I’m just thinking for… for research, because I want to see how the soul marks are reacting to all this dating stuff, you know, see if it’s working or if we—”

“Yes,” Draco said to cut off Potter’s rambling. “If you manage to not only hit more than six pins at once, but actually get a strike, you can kiss me.”

Potter’s face lit up as he turned around and threw the ball with the same over exuberance he did everything. It was like if Potter didn’t put his everything into everything he did, he might die.

Draco knew that was an exaggeration; he’d watched Potter in Potions class and Potter had barely put a little finger’s worth of effort into that, so perhaps what was more true was when Potter _wanted_ or _cared about_ something he seemed to act like if he didn’t do his everything, he would die.

The ball bounced back and forth of the side before colliding with the centre pin. Draco’s jaw dropped as one by one the pins started falling; he felt like he was watching a comedy sketch ― apart from the fact it was his life.

Finally there was one pin left, and Draco watched as it wobbled. Draco opened his mouth to laugh that Potter hadn’t managed to do it when it finally fell lifelessly to the floor and the board flashed up celebrating the strike.

“You cheated!” Draco spluttered, because there was no way Potter had done it.

Potter grinned. “How dare you? How would I have cheated?”

Draco threw his arms up in the air as Potter stepped closer to him. “I don’t know but—”

“But—” Potter wasn’t touching Draco but he was an unlit cigarette distance away.

“You did cheat!” Draco hissed, prodding Potter’s chest. He felt the buzz of his soul mark but there was no pain, and he wasn’t angry. “You used magic,” he murmured, lowering his voice.

“Picked up a few tricks on my travels,” Potter laughed, his hand resting on Draco’s hip. “Now do I get my kiss or not?”

“You should’ve been a Slytherin,” Draco swallowed, his eyes flicking to Potter’s lips. 

“Malfoy.”

“Luckily for you, I find cunning a highly attractive trait,” Draco said, before leaning forward and brushing his lips against Potter’s. Potter’s hand tightened on his hip, and Draco kissed him for a moment longer before stepping back.

“Malfoy,” Potter repeated, laughing as he stepped forward, his eyes bright and his hands outstretched.

Draco knew it would be easy to cave and let Potter kiss him again. However, he was determined to do this right. They still barely knew each other. This wasn’t a relationship, it was… Draco didn’t know what it was.

“Earn it honestly next time, Potter,” Draco teased, pressing his hand against Potter’s chest and stopping him from moving closer.

Potter’s eyes sparked with that familiar light and Draco smiled. He supposed he never would learn to stop challenging Potter. However, he wasn’t sure he wanted to learn.

* * *

Draco curled his feet up underneath him and settled back into the sofa. “What happened again last week?”

“Amanda is continuing to tell everyone that Rob went into the Frozen Forest to look for his sister when in reality his body is rotting beneath the castle lake,” Pansy said, dropping down onto the sofa. “And Queen Leah is trying to figure out the best way to deal with the Northern Warlocks.”

“What’s she thinking?” Draco asked.

Greg groaned from where he was residing in the armchair in the corner, his business book on his lap and a large bacon sandwich perched beside him. “She’ll probably do the wrong thing, and be killed off and then  _ a different  _ witch or wizard will take the throne.”

“Magician!” Both Draco and Pansy scolded at the same time.

Greg threw them a look before returning to slowly working his way through his business book. Greg was hoping to earn his Business and Administration Qualification so he could begin to take on a larger role at his florist. He was getting there slowly and steadily, and Jessica was helping him when she could because she’d taken a Business A level.

“I hope she doesn’t fuck it up,” Pansy sighed, “I like Leah being on the throne. Especially since she turned down fucking Curtis. God, that was a satisfying moment.”

“I thought he was her soulmate? Didn’t the Great Rosalie find that out last time?” Draco said. “Then again, fuck soulmates.”

“Agreed,” Pansy and Greg echoed.

What a pathetic existence the three of them made. Greg would never know who his soulmate was, but maybe it was better that way. Perhaps he was the luckiest of the three. Pansy was lumped with Draco, someone she didn’t want, and to rub it in she wasn’t even his soulmate. It was unfortunate, but again, she could ignore it. The world was still her oyster.

Draco didn’t want to seem selfish, but he was pretty sure his was the worst. He had a chance to be with his soulmate, but his soulmate didn’t want him back. Potter had made that pretty clear by ignoring Draco for the last couple of weeks.

They’d had a great time bowling. Draco had really enjoyed spending time with Potter sober, and he thought Potter had felt the same. They had texted back and forth the next couple of days, and Draco had suggested they go on another date. Perhaps for dinner again, except this time they try not to get smashed.

Potter had said he was busy that week, but next week. And Draco had been waiting every day, but Potter hadn’t texted him since.

He felt like a scorned teenager and it was pissing him off. Massively.

“Speaking of shit soulmates,” Pansy started, turning to him.

“We’re not having this conversation,” Draco said firmly. He wished it hadn’t been Jessica and Humeara’s turn to do the shopping so he could have claimed it was because of their presence. Couldn’t risk the Muggles overhearing, but nope, Draco simply didn’t want to discuss how pathetic it all was.

“Why not?” Pansy said, “You’ve been feeling like shit again ‘cause you’re angry at him. And you’re angry at him, because you miss him.”

“I do not miss him,” Draco snapped.

Pansy glared at him. “Are you falling for him?”

“It’s been two fucking dates, no, I am not,” Draco glared back.

“Is it because of the mark? Is the mark making you fall for him?”

Greg sighed. “Don’t you think if it was the mark making Draco like him, you two would have had an easier time with your marks?”

“Thank you,” Draco said.

Greg glanced up from his text book. “You do miss Potter, though.”

Draco took it back. He hated both Pansy  _ and  _ Greg. However, he did not hate them quite as much as he hated Potter.

He hated Potter because Pansy was right, Draco was feeling worse again. His body felt like it was infested with ants crawling under his skin and trying to burrow their way out. He could hear Potter’s heart thudding, and it was no longer comforting, it was just mocking. All this together meant that he wasn’t sleeping well, and to top it all off, his soul mark had changed again.

It had been a couple of days ago. Draco’s side had burnt and he’d awoken screaming in pain. The change had blurred with a nightmare, an old one from the war of being tortured by the Dark Lord, of being tortured by his own father. The Dark Lord had liked doing that, making Lucius turn his wand on Draco.

Draco had thought he would die that year; he’d never expected to make it through the week, let alone the war. Sometimes he hadn’t expected to make it through the day.

The nightmares were still there, lurking under the surface and waiting.

_ Pandy Hotter _ , Draco had laughed as Pansy ran her hands through his hair. Draco had to laugh, because fate clearly was.

“Have you tried texting him?” Greg asked, placing his textbook on the floor and gazing at Draco. Draco paused the TV and huffed; clearly he wasn’t going to be able to escape this conversation.

“Yes, I asked him on another date and he said no and hasn’t texted me since.”

“That was a week ago,” Pansy said, shoving her hands into her hoodie pocket. “Have you tried texting him since?”

“No, I have some fucking dignity left, thank you very much,” Draco said, returning to glaring at Pansy because it made him feel better about the whole thing.

Pansy scoffed. “Could have fooled me.”

“Children,” Greg groaned. “Draco, why won’t you just call him? What do you actually have to lose?”

“Pride?” Draco said, crossing his arms. They were going to have to watch this episode of  _ The Magicians’ Game  _ again and it was all Greg and Pansy’s fault.

“You’re not your father, Draco,” Greg said.

“What do you know?” Draco sneered. “You don’t have a fucking soulmate.” Draco regretted it instantly as Greg recoiled back in his seat. “I…” Draco started before trailing off, unable to find the words to apologise.

Greg bent down and gathered up his book and sandwich. “No, I don’t have some mark telling me who is supposed to help me better my life, which means I get to make that decision for my fucking self.” He stood up and glared at Draco. Draco felt like he was twelve-years-old again, when Snape had caught him mocking Greg’s and Vince’s stupidity and told him off for it. “So, maybe I don’t understand, but I understand this: either stop fucking moping or fix it yourself. You know Potter better than Pansy or I; if you want him: fight for him. For once in your fucking life, Draco, stop expecting the world to fall at your feet.”

“I don’t!” Draco shouted, jumping up as Greg walked out of the room. “I’ve worked for everything I have now and—”

“Oh shut up,” Pansy snapped. “You’ve been a right cunt, Draco, go fucking fix it.”

Draco stared at her, his mouth opening and closing as he did his best impression of one of the fish from the Manor lake, before storming out of the room and upstairs. He slammed his bedroom door behind him for good luck.

He marched up and down his box room before throwing himself down on his bed, lying there for a bit before returning to pacing.

Greg had been out of order with that comment about his father. Greg had started it all. Draco had stated a fact: Greg couldn’t know what this was like, he didn’t have a soul mark! Even if he did have a soulmate out there, he’d never know. He’d never have to deal with the absolute humiliation of knowing his soulmate didn’t want him back.

Potter would rather suffer through the pain than spend time with Draco and that was fine. Draco didn’t care. Draco didn’t care at all.

“Malfoy?”

Draco wasn’t entirely sure at what point during his inner rant he had ended up dialling Potter, but he certainly hadn’t consciously meant to and promptly dropped his phone onto the bed with a dignified squeak.

“Malfoy?” Potter’s voice came again, but more tentatively. “Are you there?”

“No,” Draco muttered to himself, before picking up his phone and bluntly saying, “Yes.”

Silence fell and Draco took the moment to inspect his bedroom wall; he ought to get Jess to get him some more photos printed.

“Malfoy?” Potter asked again. “Why’d you call?”

“I didn’t,” Draco huffed, dropping back onto his bed and lying down to stare at the ceiling.

He could hear Potter’s breathing, and the tension in his chest managed to both tighten and loosen at the same time. “Okay…”

Draco inhaled and exhaled, wallowing in the silence. It was Potter’s own fault, or maybe it was Draco’s fault for believing that someone like Potter could fall for him. Soul mark or no soul mark, they were too different. There was too much between them. Too much messy, ugly past that was entrenched. It was part of them now.

“Have you been feeling unwell again?”

Draco was going to throw himself out of the window; honestly, who did Potter think he was?

“Never been better actually,” Draco said.  _ It’s not like my body feels like it's trying to rip itself open and my heart feels like it’s been stepped on _ , he refrained from adding.

He needed to stop watching those rom-coms if he was going to wax about his emotions this way.

Potter sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“Blanked me? Ignored me? Left me to suffer this fucking soul mark fate by myself?” Draco offered.

“I’ve been suffering, too,” Potter muttered.

Draco laughed, he couldn’t help it. “Good.”

“I’ve been meaning to text,” Potter said, and only by the skin of his teeth did Draco resist hurling his phone at the wall.

_ Why didn’t you _ ? Draco wanted to ask, instead he swallowed and said, “Doesn’t bother me, I could just do without the irritating side effects.”

“Oh,” Potter said, rather stupidly in Draco’s opinion. “It wasn’t because of you that I didn’t call, I just… had some shit going on.”

Draco had to take a deep breath, because otherwise he was going to march over to Grimmauld Place and murder Potter. “Did you just try to say  _ it's not you _ ,  _ its me _ to me?”

“Urm… yeah?” Potter said, managing to sound even  _ more  _ stupid.

Draco dropped his phone onto his bed and buried his head in his pillow. He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Potter was probably the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world and he was also the biggest idiot. Ever.

“Like it wasn’t you, it was me?” Potter’s voice floated up from Draco’s abandoned phone. Draco rolled over and picked it up again.

“Obviously it wasn’t me as  _ I  _ was just trying to do as Granger told us,” Draco said. He was pretty sure there was a damp spot on his ceiling that was new.

Potter sighed and he did sound exhausted. “Can I make it up to you?”

“I’m busy.” Draco shrugged, even though Potter couldn’t see him.

Potter sighed again, which Draco thought was a bit uncalled for. “Malfoy, please? Just come over to dinner. I’ll cook, and we’ll chat. Really chat?”

“This better not be a booty-call,” Draco sniffed.

Potter laughed, and the warm sound embedded itself in Draco’s chest and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again. Potter had wormed his way into Draco’s life and it was going to hurt like hell to get him out.

“It’s not, I promise. Come over… I want to say Friday but that’s ages away and…”

“How about Tuesday?” Draco suggested, trying to sound nonchalant. “You know, just because the sooner the better with these fucking side effects.”

“Tuesday sounds good,” Potter said, and Draco could hear the smile in his voice. He was becoming such a sap. There was a shout down the phone and Potter said, “I’m at the Burrow for lunch so I’ve got to go, but I’ll text you.”

“Whatever,” Draco said.

Potter laughed softly. “I meant it you know, Malfoy. It wasn’t you. I know it sounds like shit, but it wasn’t.”

Draco bit his lip before sighing. Potter sounded so earnest. “I’ll see you Tuesday, Potter.”

“See you Tuesday,” Potter said, and then there was another shout from a Weasley and the line went dead.

Draco lay on his bed staring at the brown ring on his ceiling for a while. Potter seemed like he’d meant it, that Draco hadn’t been the reason he hadn’t called. But what could it have been?

Draco knew so little about Potter’s life, and if Draco were going to let Potter into his life, he wanted answers. Draco wasn’t going to hand over every little fact about himself, and have Potter give him nothing.

These soul marks were supposed to mark them as equals and that was exactly what they were going to be. Draco wouldn’t settle for less.

Eventually he rolled out of bed, and padded back downstairs to Greg’s room. He knocked and let himself in at Greg’s answering grunt.

Greg’s room was simple, like his old bedroom had been.  A couple posters of Muggle bands were the walls, as well as and the same group snapshots that Jessica had printed out for Draco.

As Greg’s room was downstairs, it was the biggest. The girls had decided he could have it as he would be the best at defending them if an attacker came. Draco had fought back for a moment, but he didn’t fancy having to fight off an intruder, so had conceded.

Greg was hunched over his desk, still working through his business book. Draco teetered in the doorway, wringing his hands together. “I shouldn’t have said that, about you not having a soulmate, because you do… And I know that. Granger explained it to me.”

Greg sighed, turning around and fixing Draco with a look that made him feel about two feet tall. “You’re still a twat, you know.”

“I know,” Draco muttered, resisting the urge to fight back.

“Like, you’re not a cunt anymore — Pansy was wrong on that — but you certainly are a twat,” Greg continued, and then he smiled. Draco felt a weight lift off his shoulders; he’d never meant to upset Greg. “I don’t care about not having a soul mark, just so you know, seems like a fucking lot of hassle.”

“It is,” Draco laughed weakly, closing the door behind him and sitting down on the end of Greg’s bed. “A lot of hassle.”

“But you’ve spoken to Potter, haven’t you?” Greg said, cocking his head to the side. “You look less like you’ve got a stick up your arse than you have all week.”

Draco flipped him off but smiled. “Yeah, I’m going for dinner. He’s going to explain why he’s been AWOL.”

Greg nodded and turned back to his book. He’d never been a man of many words, and Draco had always liked that about him.

Draco stood up to leave; he had to finish marking the children’s work for tomorrow anyway.

“I like the freedom not having a mark gives me. I like knowing that I get to choose who I want in my life,” Greg said, causing Draco to pause by the door. Greg didn’t turn around. “I’ve met this Muggle guy, at my wrestling class and I like him… I like him a lot. And I like knowing that there’s no pressure.”

Draco swallowed, envious of Greg’s choice. Of the complete free will Greg had been granted. “I’m glad, but I thought…”

Greg glanced over his shoulder, his face softer than Draco had ever seen it. “I’m still asexual, and I don’t know if I’ll ever fancy… that… but I like him, so I’m going to see how it goes.”

“Keep me updated,” Draco said, resting his hand against the door. “I really am happy for you, you know?”

“I know.”

* * *

Swirling the wine around his glass, Draco watched as Potter trotted back and forth in the kitchen. He really seemed to know what he was doing, which surprised Draco. Potter had been bloody useless at Potions, but he knew his way around the kitchen.

It hadn’t been awkward and stilted, per se. However, it hadn’t been as easy as it had been when they’d gone bowling. Potter’s smile sometimes failed to meet his eyes, and his laugh fell short.

He looked awful, with rugged stubble on his jaw and dark circles under his eyes. There was more to it than merely the soul mark, because Draco didn’t look  _ that  _ bad. Draco looked like he had awoken from a Sleeping Beauty slumber in comparison to Potter.

“Has your soul mark changed?” Draco asked, taking a sip of his wine.

Potter looked up from where he was stirring the sauce, smiling crookedly. “Yeah,” he turned back to the pot, but lifted his shirt up with his other hand. “I am currently searching for  _ Drally Walfoy _ , do you know him?”

“Sounds more like a girl’s name,” Draco smirked.

Potter glanced back at him. “You got something to tell me?”

“Ha ha,” Draco said, rolling his eyes, “And I take it back, it sounds like a house-elf’s name. Have  _ you  _ got something to tell me, Potter?”

Potter flipped him off but didn’t look away from his cooking. “Don’t you think it’s a bit ridiculous that we’re calling each other by our surnames still, when we’re… you know… soulmates?”

Draco took another sip of wine to give himself a moment. “My soulmate is called  _ Pandy Hotter _ , so there is no reason for me to start calling you… Harry,” Draco wrinkled his nose; the word tasted weird in his mouth. Not bad… just different. It was intimate, as if they were pushing down the final walls between them, which was ridiculous when there was still so much they didn’t know.

Potter chuckled. “One thing before I start making  _ Hotter  _ jokes, can we make an agreement?”

“What would it entail?”

Draco had  _ known _ that Potter would make  _ Hotter  _ jokes.

Potter flicked his fingers at the spoon in the saucepan and it began stirring itself, as he wandered over to the pasta. “When it finally says Harry Potter, will you start just calling me Harry?”

Draco wanted to make a joke about Potter being presumptuous, but as he was about to, Potter met his eyes. The joke died on Draco’s lips as he stared into those green eyes, and instead he said, “Only if you’ll finally call me Draco.”

Potter smiled, and Draco hurt. “Deal.”

Potter really was a fantastic cook; Draco had to give him that as he ate his spaghetti bolognese. Draco could barely cook pasta himself, and when Potter had asked him to help, Draco had politely declined.

Conversation had been easy as they sat there. They’d chatted about Hogwarts and their classes, making sure to skim over the more difficult places. There were a lot of difficult places, but they were both determined to make it work. Determined to be pleasant.

There had been one point when Draco thought Potter was going to snap at an admittedly poorly placed joke about their Magical Creature classes, but Potter had instead taken a large sip of wine, and Draco had brought it back to mini-dragons and they had sailed smoothly since then.

“So,” Draco asked, twirling a piece of pasta on his fork, “where are you off to next?”

“As in?” Potter prompted; he’d finished his meal a few minutes ago. He ate like a Hippogriff.

“Your travels. You never stay here long,” Draco said, popping the pasta into his mouth and watching Potter.

Potter tapped his fingers against the table. It was a large table, far too big since Potter lived in this house alone. It seemed like it ought to be full of people laughing and shouting. It didn’t seem right that someone like Potter lived in this huge, airy place alone.

“No, I don’t and… and… the reason for that is why I’ve been kind of a dick in the last week, with the not calling and… fuck.” Potter laughed humourlessly. “This is hard to say, but Hermione told me, I… I should try and explain it to you.”

Draco smoothed his own fingers over the old table, feeling the ridges against his skin. “Okay.”

“I have, since the war anyway, and Hermione and Samantha think… Samantha’s my… urm… mindhealer, that I try see when I’m back ‘cause you see the war left me with this…” Potter dragged his hands through his hair like every word hurt him.

Draco was long done with being the source of Potter’s pain. He didn’t want to hurt Potter anymore.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Draco said softly, fighting every bit of curiosity inside him.

Potter glanced up, his hands still tangled in his hair and his lips apart. “Depression, I have depression.”

“Oh,” Draco said.

Potter grinned ruefully. “Yeah, I know. It’s always worst when I’m here, when I’m…” he gazed about the kitchen, “when I’m home.”

“Is that why you travel?” Draco asked, a million questions burning in his mouth.

“Yeah,” Potter said. “After the war, I tried to throw myself back into life. I joined straight up the Aurors with Ron, I caught Death Eaters, I was the Saviour they all wanted me to be. I was who they needed me to be.” Potter traced the edge of his wine glass, his voice sounding like he were about to shatter. “I didn’t give myself any time — Samantha always talks about time — I didn’t let myself think about who and what I had lost along the way. I didn’t mourn, I didn’t think at all. I just got up everyday, and I went to the Ministry. I fucked Ginny, I became everything they wanted me to be. I stopped being just Harry. I was  _ Harry Potter _ ,  _ The Saviour, The Boy Who Lived,  _ but I wasn’t Harry. _ ”  _ Potter laughed bitterly and downed the rest of his wine. “I died that night in the wood; don’t know if your mum told you that, but I died.”

Draco nearly choked on his own tongue at the nonplussed way in which Potter said it. People didn’t die and come back. People didn’t  _ die  _ and come back.

Potter stood up and grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey from the cupboard and a couple of clean glasses. “I know, sounds weird, but it’s true.” Potter poured the whiskey into the glasses and took a long swig, pulling a face and exhaling the smoke. “Hermione was the one who thought we ought to go travelling, so we bought a new tent and we left. Me, Ron, and her. We went to Australia to find her parents, and we camped our way across the country, and for the first time in so fucking long...” Potter leant back in his chair and smiled. He looked a million miles away from Draco. “I was me again. I was just me.”

Potter pushed Draco’s glass of firewhiskey towards him. Draco took it and took a sip, letting the smoke out steadily.

“And it was good. Fuck, it was so good. It was messy and hard, and we were all husks of the people we had been before it all, but we learnt to put ourselves back together again.” Potter poured himself more firewhiskey. 

“And then we came home, and they started offering me the Auror position again. And the press started following me, talking about me, talking about everyone I loved and cared about, and it became too much. So, I went again, with Luna this time. And the cycle continued, I would come back and it would all descend back onto my shoulders and I couldn’t do it. I’m a fucking fraud, Malfoy.

“I can't be their Saviour! I don’t want to be their Saviour! I can’t save them all! I tried, I tried so fucking hard to do it, but it nearly kills me! Every time I come home, they make me into something I’m not! I’m just Harry! I’m just Harry!”

Potter glanced up at Draco, green eyes shining in the light and his bottom lip trembling. “I just want to be Harry.”

“You always were that to me,” Draco said, reaching out across the table and taking Potter’s hand. Potter smiled and Draco accepted for the first time that there was no coming back from this. If Potter left, Draco would never be the same, this was it. Potter had tattooed himself onto Draco’s body and into Draco’s life, and Draco would never be able to forget it.

Potter squeezed Draco’s hand, entwining their fingers. They looked good together; Potter’s golden, thick, calloused hands against Draco’s pale, thin ones. Draco squeezed Potter’s hand back.

“And the last week it got worse again, the  _ Prophet _ posting articles about Ginny and me, the Ministry begging me for consultations, and I hadn’t really left the house till Sunday when Ron dragged me to the Burrow.” Potter’s thumb started rubbing softly against the side of Draco’s hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let it get the better of me. I shouldn’t have left you in the lurch.”

Since he had called on Sunday, Draco had thought about what he would say to Potter. No, he’d been thinking about it since Potter had rejected his invitation for supper a couple of weeks ago. He’d been going to  _ show  _ Potter. He’d been going to tell him exactly where he could stick it.

Instead, he said, “It’s okay. I understand what it’s like for it to get to be too much.”

He turned Potter’s hand over and traced his fingertips across the lines on Potter’s hand. Jess always claimed to be able to read the lines on someone’s palm, but Draco thought she was chatting crap. He hated the whole idea of your palm telling your life story; he wanted to write his own life story.

He swallowed and met Potter’s eyes. Potter’s wonderful, marvelous eyes. 

“Tell me?” Potter whispered and Draco went against everything he’d ever been taught. Everything his father had whispered in his ear. Every inch of self-preservation installed into him in the Slytherin common room.

Draco let Potter in.

“I don’t get depression, I don’t think — I’ve never seen a mindhealer — but I get anxiety. It feels like when a soul mark is changing, but it’s worse because I can’t blame it on anything. It is just this itching under my skin, this need to get out of a situation. The back of my neck starts sweating, and I either can’t keep still or I can’t move. And sometimes when it’s really bad, like in the Ministry that day…” Draco glanced down at the table, unable to look Potter in the eye as he spoke, “I have panic attacks.”

Why was he telling Potter all of this? Potter could use it against him.

Potter squeezed Draco’s hand, and Draco smiled at the table. Who was he kidding? This was Potter. Potter would  _ never  _ throw it back in his face.

“I’d always been what my mother called a ‘sensitive child,’ but it got worse in sixth year, and during the war I could hardly leave my room without collapsing and having a panic attack. Mother spent a lot of time claiming I was ill, because the Dark Lord judged me for it. He said it made me weak.”

“It doesn’t,” Potter said softly.

Draco glanced up and laughed. “I guess not, but it makes me fucking feel it. I tried to return to the wizarding world once my community service was up. I think I expected they would have forgotten? Or perhaps they would think I’d served my time for my crimes, but they didn’t. Of course, they didn’t. And there I was, wandless, with friends who were just as big pariahs as myself. The wizarding world was all I had ever known, but it didn’t want me. So I left.

“I live with Greg, Pansy, and two Muggle girls, in a Muggle house, in a Muggle neighbourhood. I work at a Muggle school, with Muggle children teaching them Muggle things. I work every day to make up for the things I once stood for because every day I am reminded that I was wrong. That Muggles are not weak, they are not stupid, and I am not better than them.”

Draco thought of Jessica and her laugh, her wild ways. He thought of Humeara and her smile, her eternal kindness. He thought of the children he taught and how full of life they were. The people he walked past in his day-to-day life.

All these people that he had written off as a child because they did not have magic flowing through their veins. As if magic meant anything about your worth.

“I understand now that we’re all just people,” he whispered, voice catching as he spoke. “And learning that was really fucking hard. Getting back up when you realise how wrong you are is really hard.”

He took a sip of firewhiskey, and Potter didn’t say anything as they both watched the smoke drifting up into the lights. The silence echoed around them.

“My father taught some pretty useless sayings over my life.”

Potter’s eyebrow quirked and Draco rolled his eyes. “Not even the ones  _ you’re  _ thinking of,” Draco laughed. “He taught me  _ Malfoys bow to no one _ ,  _ Malfoys never run _ ,  _ Malfoys never lose. _ ” Draco laughed again and pulled a face. “Well, they’re a bunch of shit, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure your dad did all three.”

“I did all three,” Draco shrugged. “However, my mother taught me one good thing,  _ A Black never stays down _ , and I kept that with me. They took my wand, my pride, my father, they locked my mother up. I lost everything I had had, but a Black never stays down so I built myself a new life. A better life. A life  _ I  _ can be proud of. And I am, I am proud.”

“You should be,” Potter said, and then Potter was leaning across the table and capturing Draco’s lips in his. Potter’s lips were soft, and his mouth was warm from the whiskey. He tasted of cinnamon and a little bit like their dinner, but Draco didn’t care. He didn’t care that the table was digging into his chest, or that Potter’s face was slightly wet from his tears.

All he cared about was the feel of Potter’s hand on his and Potter’s mouth moving against his own.

There was so much still to say. To talk about what it meant that they were tied together until death or at least until their soul marks changed again. If they ever did.

They ought to talk about how Draco wanted to make his own decisions and how he hoped that was what was happening here.

But Draco had never wanted to speak less in his life as Potter’s tongue slipped into his mouth. Draco opened his mouth, eagerly meeting Potter’s tongue, and letting Potter pull him to his feet.

“Kreacher, dinner’s done,” Potter said and Draco heard a crack and a grumble as Potter pulled him from the kitchen. The rest of the house was even more grubby than the kitchen until they arrived in the sitting room. Draco just about had time to look around, taking in the dark plum walls, heavy brown wood, and ugly red sofas before Potter was pushing him down onto one of the sofas and climbing on top of him.

Draco welcomed the weight, gripping Potter’s hips tightly. Perhaps he could say everything he wanted to say in the kiss.

Tell Potter that they were messy and difficult and that it wasn’t going to run smoothly, but that they were two sides of the same coin. Draco  _ understood _ what Potter said. He understood that weight to be something you weren’t.

And Potter had understood him. Potter had understood the need to rebuild your life.

Draco surged up, melting in Potter’s hands. They worked together, like a missing puzzle piece, two pieces swinging in tandem.

Potter’s stubble grazed Draco’s cheek and Draco laughed as Potter snapped his fingers and undid his shirt.

And then Potter’s lips were on his chest and Draco tried to lose himself in the moment, but he couldn’t because Potter’s show of easy magic had reminded him of the reason they could never be equals.

Potter’s teeth scraped against Draco’s soul mark and the words fell from his mouth before he could stop them. “You have my wand.”

Potter paused, leaning back panting, his cheeks flushed and his lips slick. Draco wished he hadn’t said anything as Potter cocked his head. “What?”

“My wand,” Draco whispered, feeling like his body was going to shatter if Potter refused him now. If Potter had  _ known _ all this time that  _ he  _ was the reason that Draco was defenceless. Draco had learnt to live without his wand, but it had been like learning to live without a limb. “You took it from me, at my house, and you used it in the battle. And you never gave it back.”

Potter blinked, unmoving. “Your…”

“My wand.”

“I— I didn’t think,” Potter said, getting off Draco and pointing at him. “Don’t move,” and then Potter stumbled out of the room as if he were drunk. As if Draco had announced he was pregnant or some shit.

Draco wasn’t sure what to do as he lay sprawled on Potter’s sofa, looking low-key debauched with his shirt undone, his hair a mess, and his heart about to beat out of his chest.

He had a thousand  _ what ifs _ running about his head, and none of them involved Potter arriving back in the sitting room with a wand clasped in his hand.

“I forgot,” Potter said pathetically.

“Lucky you,” Draco managed to get out, and then Potter passed him his wand and Draco felt like that lost limb had grown back. Holding Greg, Pansy, his mother’s wands —  none of them had felt like this. That familiar greeting of an old friend. The loving touch of a family member. The way Draco’s heart felt when Potter smiled at him. Holding his wand was everything at once.

“It saved my life, you know,” Potter whispered, kneeling beside Draco. “I owe you for that.”

Draco waved his wand, and it was weak but he felt something flutter inside of him. Waking up and stretching after a long slumber. He hadn’t even realised his magic had been asleep. A stream of silver sparks floated from his wand as he turned back to Potter. “I’m glad it saved you, and thank you for giving it back.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Potter said, sliding his hand into Draco’s hair and pulling him in for a kiss. Draco’s magic sung as Potter kissed him this time, and Draco wondered what he’d been missing out on.

Draco deepened the kiss, tugging on Potter’s shirt and throwing it across the room, pressing their hot bodies together so that they were nearly one. Draco thought he might die if he didn’t have Potter in that moment.

The sound of a floo roaring to life had Draco pushing Potter away desperately. Potter teetered, now off balance, before landing on his arse with an undignified thump, grinning up at Weasley and Granger ruefully.

Weasley groaned and turned to Granger. “I  _ told  _ you he wouldn’t be able to keep it in his pants! This is the worst day ever! Look, Malfoy is fucking shirtless! This is going to give me nightmares for days! Weeks maybe! It could be months before I recover!”

“Ron,” Granger hissed. Her dark cheeks hid her blush but Draco could see she was mortified. “Harry,” Granger said, rounding on Potter, and Draco was thrilled her attention was no longer on him. Weasley was pointedly staring at a wall.

“Yes?” Potter said, not looking particularly brave under Granger’s withering glare.

“We came to make sure you were okay, and you’re having sex!”

“We technically weren’t having sex,” Potter mumbled. If looks could kill, Potter would be a pile of ashes on the floor.

Draco made sure to stay silent so Granger couldn’t yell at him.

“Do you want me to give you the sex talk again?” Granger threatened.

“Dear Merlin, no,” Weasley whimpered and Draco was in agreement there. He had fortunately missed Granger’s first sex talk and he had  _ no  _ intention of attending the second one.

Granger glowered at her boyfriend before returning to glaring at Potter. “So I can presume the pain has faded.”

“Urm…” Potter shot her a crooked and rather charming grin, “Yeah, I guess.”

Granger did not seemed as charmed. “I suppose you should both come back into the Ministry if things are going better; I want to run some more tests.”

“Okay,” Potter nodded before shooting both his friends a clear look. Weasley continued staring at the ugly wall and Granger continued glaring at Potter.

Draco could take a hint, and he stood up, buttoning his shirt back up. “I should head off anyway, I have work tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to go,” Potter said, scrambling to his feet.

“I really do have to work,” Draco laughed. “But I’ll text you.”

“Okay,” Potter said, leaning forward and kissing Draco. Draco tried not to think about how much it meant for Potter to kiss him in front of his friends.

Draco was no longer Potter’s dirty secret.

“Is Saturday good for you to come into the Ministry, Draco?” Granger asked, forcing Draco to break away from Potter. He could feel he was blushing, but he didn’t mind.

“Yes, have Potter text me the time,” Draco said, and despite everything Granger smiled at him.

It wasn’t much, but it was acceptance. It gave Draco hope that they could exist in each other’s lives.

Draco headed for the door, and Potter followed him out into the corridor, pulling him in for a sweet kiss before opening the front door.

Draco realised this was the first time he was leaving Potter’s house knowing he was coming back. The first time Potter wasn’t kicking him out, but reluctant for him to go.

He’d been an idiot to think that Potter hadn’t meant anything to him that whole time they’d been shagging. His body had known better than he had.

“Thank you for this,” Draco said, giving his wand a wave. “Thank you for everything.”

“You too,” Potter whispered, kissing him one more time before stepping back to let Draco leave.

Draco walked along and it took a couple of attempts but he managed to cast a weak Warming Spell on himself, and when he was content, he let himself take a moment to think about what Potter’s kiss had felt like. What the entire evening had felt like. It wasn’t until he was on the tube, listening to the buzz of the tracks that he realised.

Potter felt like hope.

* * *

Draco could still feel people's eyes on him. He could feel their judgemental whispers as he walked through the Ministry, but with Potter’s shoulder brushing against his he felt like he could do it. He felt grounded.

They didn’t dare go against their  _ Saviour.  _ If Potter deemed Draco worthy of spending time with, then what was the wizarding world to protest?

Draco knew it wasn’t completely one-sided either; with Draco at Potter’s side no one wanted to approach Potter. No one wanted to speak to the  _ ex-Death Eater _ . They worked well together. They were equals.

Granger’s tests had pulled up as such today. Their bodies no longer rejected each other; if anything, Granger had said with a wry smile, their magic sought each other out.

Millicent had gagged, but she’d been smiling as she informed them that she was glad they had managed to pull their heads out of their arses and not kill each other or themselves.

Draco had appreciated the sentiment.

He’d also appreciated Granger telling him that his magical core was growing stronger again.

Draco had been practicing with his wand in his room every moment he could, Summoning things and Levitating them. It was slow, and sometimes it didn’t work, but he was getting there. It was like that time last year when he had broken his ankle and without magic had had to learn to walk on it again. He hadn’t forgotten how to do magic, but he was rusty.

He could feel himself becoming more intune with his magic every day. The feeling of it flowing through him and out of his wand was indescribable. Draco  _ loved  _ his Muggle life, but he wasn’t sure he could ever give his wand up again.

“So what now?” Potter asked, pausing in the middle of the Atrium. He barely seemed to notice when people gaped as they walked past him.

“What now?” Draco echoed, turning to face Potter. Potter shrugged and Draco laughed. “Want to come back to mine? There’s an episode of  _ The Magicians’ Game _ I want to watch.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a Muggle show but it was definitely written by a Squib or a Muggle who has wizard relatives because…” Draco trailed off as his eyes caught on a familiar head of dark hair. It was different to Potter’s. It was neat, artfully tousled, and it curled at the end around the ears. “Theo?” Draco said before he could stop himself.

Theo turned slowly, a crease between his brows. He’d spent a lot of time frowning, always looking so serious and brooding. A world away from Potter. “Draco?” Theo said, his frown growing deeper.

“Hey,” Draco said with an awkward wave. He wasn’t sure what he’d hoped to achieve by speaking to Theo, but it had been so long… so long since… since Theo had turned up on his doorstep with  _ Draco Malfoy  _ printed on his hip.

Draco had been Theo’s soulmate, and Theo hadn’t been Draco’s.

They’d spent their youth caught up in messy, frantic kisses and somewhere along the way feelings had developed. Draco wasn’t an idiot. He knew that. However, they’d both been too caught up in what was expected of them to ever admit it was real.

And after the war, when Draco had invited Theo to come with him into the Muggle world, Theo had remained in the wizarding world, clinging to the Nott name and his duty to uphold it. It’d been almost too easy for Draco to move on.

“Hello,” Theo said, swallowing before casting a glance at Potter. “Since when have you two become friends?”

“It’s a recent thing,” Draco said, unsure how to explain what he and Potter were. He barely knew himself. Theo nodded, his eyes fixed on Draco’s face. Draco wondered what he was thinking; he’d never been able to tell with Theo. He liked how Potter wore his heart on his sleeve.

“Hey, Nott,” Potter said, giving Theo that two-fingered wave. Draco smiled fondly at the sight of it. “I saw in the _ Prophet  _ you’re getting engaged to Astoria Greengrass, right? Congrats.”

Draco stepped closer to Potter before he fell over from shock. Potter’s hand brushed his lower back, and Draco let himself lean into the touch.

He could feel Theo’s eyes calculating the movement, doing the maths. Theo had always been smart. “Yes,” Theo said slowly, “she’s my soulmate,” he said, lifting his hand to show where Astoria Greengrass curled in loping black text.

Draco swallowed when he realised what Theo had done. Theo had changed his soul mark. There was an underground business that tattooed on new soul marks and burnt away the old ones. It was painful and risky, and Theo had been  _ that  _ desperate to get rid of Draco’s name.

“Congratulations,” Draco nodded, offering Theo a weak smile.

Theo didn’t smile back. “Thank you. Now I have business to attend to, but we should catch up another time?”

“Of course,” Draco said, watching as Theo walked away and understanding that it’d been a lie. They would never be catching up.

“Are you okay?” Potter asked, his hand still against Draco’s back.

Draco watched Theo’s retreating back before he turned back to Potter and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Potter nodded back, and Draco took a breath as he turned and walked away from Theodore Nott for the final time.

* * *

“Do I ask?” Potter asked, as they emerged from the Ministry and started to amble through the streets.

Draco pulled a face. “Theo had my name marked on his hip when I last saw him when we were nineteen.”

“But soul marks can’t change position, only what they say?” Potter frowned.

“Exactly,” Draco sighed, smiling as Potter took his hand. It couldn’t be easy bearing an unrequited soul mark, and for all the fuss it’d been watching his soul mark slowly transform, at least he hadn’t been alone in it all.

“Makes me think, how has She-Weasley taken it all?” Draco asked, feeling a stab of guilt for She-Weasley and Pansy, who were now stuck with Draco and Potter’s names, and nothing in return.

Potter sighed, frowning. “Okay, as well as she can. She never wanted to marry me, but I think it was a kick in the teeth to know that now she’s supposedly pining over me. She hates that narrative the media spin enough as it is.”

“Pansy’s the same. We’re both too gay to ever have wanted each other, but it was nice knowing we were in it together,” Draco said, glancing up as he felt a rain drop slide down his cheek.

“Parkinson’s gay?” Potter asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

Draco paused. “Gay as they come, why?”

Potter grinned. It was a conspirator’s grin, and some childlike part of Draco sung with glee at being included in Potter’s schemes. “Just... Ginny’s bi, and I think they could get on.”

“Are you suggesting we set Pansy and the She-Weasley up?” Draco asked, his mind reeling. She-Weasley was certainly pretty, she always had been. She was also a personality to be reckoned with, and Pansy needed someone like that. Pansy couldn’t be with someone soft; she needed someone who would push her to be more than she was.

Potter shrugged. “Do you think it could work?”

Draco laughed, shaking his head. “You know what, I do.” He tugged his jacket tighter around him as the rain started falling harder.

“Want me to Side-Along us back to yours?” Potter asked.

“No,” Draco said, tilting his head up and letting the rain wash over him. “One of the things I learnt to love most about living as a Muggle was the walking, and I like walking in the rain.”

Potter grinned. “I don’t know who would be more surprised by all of this, young me or young you.”

“Oh, it would definitely be young me,” Draco said, starting to walk again. Potter quirked his eyebrows in question. “I  _ loathed  _ all things Muggle, and while you thought I was a piece of a shit, you’ve always had a sickening belief in people.”

Potter squeezed Draco’s hand, and Draco glanced over his shoulder. Potter’s face was open and earnest as he pulled Draco close. “Okay, we can walk home in the rain like this is a romantic movie, but only if you let me do one thing?”

“You make far too many bargains for a Gryffindor.”

“Kiss me in the rain?”

“Fucking idiot,” Draco laughed, but he leant in and brushed his lips against Potter’s. He had always been a sucker for a romance movie anyway.

* * *

They tumbled into Draco’s house, absolutely soaked through but Draco didn’t care.

Potter glanced up at Draco, his wet hair plastered to his forehead and his glasses steaming up at the sudden heat. “Can I dry us now, because we are wiz—”

Draco surged forward, clasping his hand over Potter’s mouth and glaring at him. “Muggle house,” he mouthed, as Humeara’s laugh echoed through the kitchen.

“Fuck, sorry,” Potter whispered when Draco dropped his hand. “Just can I dry us off? I’m cold.”

Draco nearly said yes, when he thought of a much more enjoyable way that they could warm up. “I have a different idea.” He took a step away from Potter and up the stairs, before glancing over his shoulder and smirking. “You coming?”

Potter obviously decided that he liked what he saw in Draco’s face as he stumbled after him up the stairs, the pair of them giggling like a pair of teens sneaking around.

Draco dragged Potter into the bathroom and turned the shower on before turning to face Potter. Potter’s face lit up, his eyes slowly rolling over Draco before letting out a croaky laugh.

“Hermione said no sex until the soul marks are ready,” Potter said, looking like he hated himself.

Draco shrugged, dropping his jacket onto the floor and slowly pulling his top over his head. “Then we won’t have sex sex; I  _ know  _ you know there’s other things we can do,” Draco said, resting his hands on the top of his jeans and undoing his flies. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.” He didn’t feel self-conscious in front of Potter; they had been doing  _ this  _ long before there had been anything between them.

Or maybe that was wrong, maybe there had always been  _ something  _ between them.

“I want to,” Potter rasped before surging forward and claiming Draco’s mouth. Draco gave as good as he got as they peeled off their clothes at record speed and climbed into the shower, neither one of them wanting to stop kissing for a moment.

Draco moaned as the hot spray hit him and he realised how cold he’d been, but then Potter’s hands were groping his arse and pushing him up against the shower wall and Draco started moaning for a different reason.

“Fucking missed this,” Potter murmured, his lips on Draco’s neck before he pulled away and stared at Draco. His green eyes huge without his glasses and his dark hair finally neat. Draco smiled as he ran his hands through Potter’s head. It didn’t seem right for it to lie flat anymore.

“Me too,” Draco whispered, reclaiming Potter’s mouth.

Draco pushed his hips forward, drinking in Potter’s moans as their cocks slid against each other. He’d missed it, he’d missed the feeling of Potter’s body against his and the magnetism of it. However, it was better now because they were sober and it  _ meant  _ something. It wasn’t a drunken fumble. Draco wasn’t waiting for Potter to kick him out.

Potter pulled back, pressing his hand against Draco’s chest when Draco tried to lean forward and kiss him again.

“Why—” Draco started, not bothering to finish his sentence as Potter sunk to his knees. “Oh,” Draco said, forgetting every word in the English dictionary.

Potter pressed a kiss to Draco’s hip bone, sliding his hands up Draco’s chest. Draco shivered as Potter’s hands brushed his soul mark.  _ Pandy Hotter _ . Who would have known?

“Do you want me to suck you, Malfoy?” Potter asked, pressing another kiss to Draco’s hip, moving closer to his cock.

Draco nodded and let out a strangled, “ _ yes. _ ” Potter grinned up at him before licking a long stripe up Draco’s cock.

Draco groaned, reaching out to tangle his hands in Potter’s hand. Partly because he really loved Potter’s hair and secondly, because otherwise he had a bad feeling he was going to fall over and ruin the moment.

Potter continued working his tongue slowly and teasingly over Draco’s prick, as Draco moaned. Lapping at the head and working his hand the way Draco liked it. Finally, just when Draco thought he was going to pass out, Potter swallowed him down, sucking greedily as if he loved it.

Draco made sure to loosen his grip on Potter’s hair so he didn’t hurt him, but he couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting forward. He felt Potter gag on his cock and he was about to apologise, when Potter gripped Draco’s hips and took him the entire way down.

Draco moaned, loud and unapologetic, bucking his hips again. Potter moaned around his cock, pulling off and running his tongue around the head. As he did so he glanced up at Draco, those green eyes dark with lust, and Draco couldn’t hold out any longer. He came with a shout, head banging back against the shower wall before he glanced back down at Potter.

His knees nearly buckled at the sight. Potter had pulled off entirely when Draco came and he was currently there panting, his face and chest streaked with Draco’s come. Draco wanted to pause right there before he passed out from how hot the sight was. Before the shower washed the evidence away.

“Fuck,” Draco whimpered as Potter slowly climbed to his feet. Draco reached out, resting his thumb on Potter’s swollen lips. Potter smirked and leaned forward for a kiss. Draco kissed him hungrily, tasting himself in Potter’s mouth. He brought his hands up to cup Potter’s face before pulling back and swiping his thumb through a spot of come on Potter’s cheek.

Potter brought Draco’s hand up to his mouth and sucked on it, winking at Draco as he finally pulled away. Moving to stand under the spray, and tilting his face up to wash the come away.

Draco felt his cock give a valiant twitch at the sight. He’d never been so aroused in his life even with  _ Drally Walfoy _ staring at him.

“Potter,” Draco said, and Potter met his eyes. They kissed softly this time, Draco hand’s snaking around Potter’s cock and bringing him off with quick, easy tugs, until Potter was coming in his hand, his face buried in Draco’s neck.

Draco climbed out of the shower, his legs still shaky as he passed Potter a towel.

“Now what?” Draco asked, that old paranoia running through him that Potter would leave now that he’d been given his orgasm.

Potter wrapped the towel around his waist, and summoned his glasses from where they were balanced on the sink. “You were going to show me  _ The Magic Game,  _ weren’t you?”

“ _ The Magicians’ Game _ ,” Draco corrected, biting his lip and turning around so Potter couldn’t see him smiling like an idiot. Potter wanted to stay.

And stay Potter did. Draco wasn’t sure how he spent his afternoon curled up on the sofa with Potter watching  _ The Magicians’ Game  _ from the beginning, but it happened.

He liked Potter bantering with Jess and Pansy. Offering to help Humeara cook dinner for them all that evening and chatting with Greg.

It was surreal, but it worked. It really worked.

And when Potter stayed the night, Draco realised that he wasn’t ready to let this go anytime soon. No matter what their soul marks did in the future, Draco wanted to keep exploring this thing with Potter for as long as possible, because the soul marks had given them the push they’d needed, but at the end of the day it wasn’t about the fact they were soulmates. It was about them.

Draco woke up in the night, rolling closer against Potter’s body. He tried to press his eyes shut tightly, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. There was something scratching at his skin… Something like…

“Potter!” Draco hissed, giving Potter a sharp poke to the rips as he leant over and grabbed his wand. It took a couple of attempts before he could cast a strong enough  _ Lumos _ to light up the room and force Potter awake.

“What?” Potter groaned, burying his head in the pillow. “What is it?”

“Don’t you feel it?” Draco whispered, yanking back the covers, afraid only  _ his _ mark was changing. He let out a sigh as he caught sight of Potter’s mark, the black letters shifting and changing until it was unmistakable that they read  _ Draco Malfoy _ .

Potter sat up, rubbing at his soul mark before his eyes caught on Draco’s side and he grinned crookedly. “Harry Potter.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco said, reaching out and tracing the letters, feeling Potter shiver at the touch.

“Malfoy,” Potter whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from Potter’s mark. “What? You’re not about to do something horribly Gryffindor like say you love me, are you?”

Silence.

“Potter?” Draco said, glancing up. He liked Potter a lot but this wasn’t love this was—

“Will you marry me?” Potter asked, and Draco froze. This couldn’t be happening. No. No. Potter wasn’t one of those people who thought… No, this couldn’t. 

Potter snorted and Draco glared at him.

“You fucker!” Draco groaned, prodding Potter again before stroking his soul mark. “You fucking fucker!”

Potter wheezed; he was laughing hysterically as he lay back down on the bed. And despite it all, Draco let Potter pull him into his arms.

“Yours is even in Gryffindor red,” Potter teased.

Draco rolled his eyes but moved until his back was flush against Potter’s chest. “Shut up,” he grumbled fondly.

“Hey,” Potter whispered, his lips brushing the back of Draco’s neck.

“What?”

“You know you have to call me Harry now,” Potter said, his fingers tracing Draco’s soul mark softly.

Draco laughed. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay, Draco,” Potter said, his breath tickling Draco’s skin. Draco wasn’t sure his name had ever sounded better than it did coming from Potter’s lips. 

Draco had been wrong earlier: it was this moment he wanted to freeze in time. He and Potter together, not having to face the world. The two of them, ready to see where this all took them. The two of them in charge of their own choices. Not influenced by the wizarding world, the Muggle world, their soul marks, fate or any of that crap. Just the two of them.

“Night, Harry,” Draco whispered unsure if Potter would even hear.  _ Harry.  _ It no longer seemed too intimate, it seemed right.

“Night, Draco.”

They could deal with everything else in the morning. For now, they were good how they were.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!! 
> 
> Kudos and comments fuel my existence!!
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@gracie137blogs](http://gracie137blogs.tumblr.com)
> 
> For all who are interested on the magic // soulmate theory i created here are my [notes](http://gracie137blogs.tumblr.com/post/173673850485/drarry-fic-highly-incompatible-e-39k-dracos)
> 
> The way I wanted to think about consent with this fic was the idea of soulmates and soul marks and how much free will they leave the person to choose who they want to be with. I really wanted to explore Draco grappling with the idea of suddenly feeling like he was being told he was supposed to feel things for Harry that he didn’t want to feel and the way he would react to that after his total loss of control during the war. A big part of this fic for me was ensuring the Magical and Soulmate theory ensured that at the end of the day the person was free to choose whether or not they wanted to be romantically engaged with their soulmate. Overall, I wanted to explore consent regarding the free will vs. determinism of soulmates, as well demonstrating consent in a sexual manner.


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